The Legacy of Private Wilson
by Elizabeth Joan-hbndgirl
Summary: Joe and Chet are helping Biff fix up an old car. When Joe finds a camera in the trunk, he discovers that the car holds answers to questions of the past and questions of the future. Part 8 of the "Chapters" series.
1. The '63 Mustang

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Hello! Here it is – the eighth and likely the last installment of the Chapters series. If you haven't read the other stories, there will be some details in this one that might not make sense, but I'll try to explain everything, keeping readers who haven't been following this series in mind. The main things you need to know are that Frank and Callie are married and expecting their first child, Joe and Iola had a pretty bad break-up a couple of years before this story takes place and while they're on fairly good terms, they're not dating anymore, and Nancy and Ned are married with a daughter who is almost a year old. This story will be very Joe-centric with a healthy dose of Biff and Chet. I've had a lot of people wondering why Joe hasn't found a new girl or gotten back together with Iola yet; this story will explain why. It will probably surprise you (a lot) and might be disappointing. If the choices I make in this story bother you, I won't be offended if you don't want to continue reading. I do ask you to be respectful, though, please._

 _So, that was a much shorter break than I meant to take. I'll probably not be as good about updating this story as often as I have been in the past – there could be as many as four or five days between chapters. Thanks for being patient with me on this._

 _Thank you in advance for reading, following, favoriting, and/or reviewing! I really appreciate your support and comments._

 _Finally, to give credit where credit is due, this story was largely inspired by the song "Riding with Private Malone" by David Ball._

 _ **The Legacy of Private Wilson**_

Chapter I

The '63 Mustang

Everyone up and down the street jumped when the Queen's horn blared loudly. Several people rushed to their doors or windows to see what the noise was about. Most of them shook their heads in annoyance when they saw the yellow jalopy with three young men in it parked in front of the Prito house, the driver blasting away on the horn, but a few of them smiled a little. The time was when they used to see this very sight just about every Saturday, but it had been years since then. For a moment, they felt as if nothing had changed since then.

Chet Morton was in the driver seat, tapping the horn with the heel of his hand. Biff Hooper had commandeered the front passenger seat, which was the only seat he could fit in since he had gained another four inches after graduating high school. That left the back to Joe Hardy, who was desperately trying to roll the window down.

"Hey, Chet, I think your window's broken," he pronounced after his unsuccessful attempt.

Chet waved his hand carelessly. "Just put it on the list."

A moment later, Tony Prito came down the front steps from his parents' house and approached the jalopy, an expression on his face that was all at the same time annoyed, alarmed, amused, and a little bit nostalgic.

"What do you guys think you're doing?" he asked.

"It's summer, it's Saturday, and we're tired of being adults," Biff declared. "So, for today, we're seventeen again. Come on, get in."

"Have you guys been drinking?" Tony asked suspiciously.

"Who? Us?" Biff countered in the most incriminatingly innocent voice he could.

Joe kicked at the back of his seat to warn him, to which Chet merely replied, "Hey! If you break the seat, Joe, you're fixing it."

"Come on, Tony," Biff said.

"Guys," Tony protested, "I'm a law enforcement officer, and I'm getting married in a week."

"That doesn't mean you have to be boring," Chet replied.

"I can't go riding around town, acting like a teenager in that broken down old jalopy," Tony went on.

"Oh, I guess it does," Chet replied, a trifle sarcastically.

Joe pushed his door open. "Get in, Tony. There's plenty of time to adult. Besides, we already asked Frank and he turned us down flat."

"He always was the most sensible of all of us," Tony pointed out.

The three friends in the car looked at one another and shrugged.

"One last chance," Joe said. "You can't be that busy today."

"I've got a million things to do," Tony protested, "and Vanessa's so stressed out, even if I didn't have so much to do, I'd want to be with her today."

"Well, I guess it's the three of us, then," Biff said.

"See you later, Tony!" Joe shouted as he slammed the door shut. There was a crack, and the door wiggled. "Uh, Chet?"

"Add it to the list," Chet replied, throwing the car into gear and starting off.

It was a bright Saturday in early June, coming on the heels of a rough week. Joe, who was blond and about a month away from his twenty-fifth birthday, was a private detective who worked with his father, Fenton Hardy, and his dad's long-time partner, Sam Radley. Joe's brother Frank, dark-haired and a year older, still worked with them to some degree, but his field work was severely limited. He had had a rough case at the end of November of the year before, and between that and the fact that his wife, Callie, who was eight months pregnant, worried about the danger he ran into with his detective work, he had decided to go back to school the following fall and begin working toward a degree in forensics, in which field he could still work with his father and his brother. That left the others a little short-handed at times, especially this last week. They had had four separate cases, and Joe had stopped logging his hours after he had hit eighty for the week.

On Wednesday, Chet's apartment, which was a basement apartment, had flooded, and he had had to scramble to get his things out of there. Even as it was, most of his electronics and appliances were ruined, and he was out of an apartment for an indefinite amount of time. For the moment, he was moved back in with his parents. Then, that same day, Biff's girlfriend, Aleesha, had broken up with him, and then he had learned on Thursday that it was because she had started seeing someone else.

So, by the time Saturday rolled around, all three of them were more than ready to do something to get their minds off everything and maybe even have some fun. Hence, it was decided to cruise around Bayport and the surrounding area in Chet's jalopy, the Queen, like they used to when they were in high school, the radio blaring '80s and '90s music as loud as it could.

Chet steered the car out of town, and they headed up Shore Road, winding over the cliffs overlooking Barmet Bay, the horseshoe-shaped inlet on the banks of which rested their hometown of Bayport. It was sparkling like a jewel in the sunlight, and small pleasure craft were zipping about it, out of the way of the larger freighters. It was a beautiful sight, but Joe, Chet, and Biff were too busy seeing who could sing along with the radio the loudest to notice.

Once they reached the top, passing by the old Pollit place where Frank and Joe had solved one of their first cases years ago when they were still amateur sleuths, Chet turned down a narrow gravel road that would take them through what used to be farm ground. Most of the farmers' children hadn't been able to make a go of it, though, and the family farms had been sold off, piece by piece, with new houses being put up all through them. It made an odd assortment, with some towering mansions, some cracker-box houses, and a few of the old farmhouses lined on either side of the road, with plenty of trees in between them to try to block out the sight of their neighbors. This particular road wasn't as densely populated as most of the others, which most people blamed on the road. In addition to being narrow and gravel, it had steep banks on either side and winding curves every few yards.

Chet was driving as fast as he could around the curves, something that wasn't particularly smart but he had been doing it for years. He was just going around a right turn when a horrible grinding noise erupted from the engine. Instantly, he slammed on the brakes, steered the car as near the edge of the road as he could, and stopped.

Biff whistled. "I don't think you can just add that one to the list. It's a good thing you've got the best mechanic in Bayport with you."

"Yeah," Chet agreed. "I should be able to fix this in no time. Oh, and maybe you can help, too."

The two of them worked in the same shop as mechanics, and it was no unusual thing for them to be debating each other over who was better at his job.

"We'll need tools," Chet went on as he got out and headed for the hood. "There's some in the trunk, Joe."

When Joe opened the trunk to look, he couldn't help making a face. "How do you have so much junk in here?"

"It's not junk," Chet protested as he lifted the hood. "Most of that is priceless treasures."

"I don't see any treasures, or tools for that matter," Joe commented.

"They're probably just buried," Chet told him. "Keep looking."

While Joe rooted around in the trunk, Chet and Biff looked to see if they could spot the trouble even without any tools. Nothing stood out to them.

Joe eventually gave up the search with a shrug. "No tools in here."

Chet slapped his forehead with his palm. "I just remembered. I was doing some work on Dad's car. You know, to help repay him for letting me stay there. I must have forgotten to put them back in the trunk."

Biff sighed. "Well, I guess we'll just have to call for help. So much for the drive."

"I bet somebody in one of these houses has some tools," Joe said. "If we ask nice, they might let us borrow some."

The others agreed it was worth a try, so they trekked a short way up the road to the nearest house. It was one of the old farmhouses, a little rundown, but it looked like someone was in the process of fixing it up. Biff reached the door first and knocked.

The door opened a crack, and someone peered out at them. They couldn't see much about her except that she was a sandy blonde and short. "Can I help you?" she asked, apparently nervous to have three strange men call on her unexpectedly.

"Maybe," Biff replied. "Our car broke down just up the road. You can see it from here. Now, my friend, here, and I are mechanics, and we can probably fix it on our own, but somebody forgot to put any tools in the trunk. Is there any chance we could borrow some from you? We could pay you for the trouble."

The woman opened the door a little wider, and Joe and his friends could see her clearly for the first time. She was about their age, possibly even a little younger, and very cute. She looked them over for a moment or two and must have decided she could trust them.

"There are some tools in the barn." She pointed out the weathered, wooden building near her house. "I don't know if they're what you need. I don't know much about cars, but you're welcome to look at them and see. I – I guess I'd better show you where they are."

Joe decided she must be home alone and probably more than a little worried that he and his friends meant her some harm. Even so, she led the way to the barn. Everything inside was covered in dust, including the old tool that she showed them.

"Sorry," she said. "I just bought this place a few weeks ago, and I've been trying to fix it up, but it's going pretty slow."

"No problem." Biff turned from the tool bench to smile reassuringly at her. She blushed and looked down at the floor. Over her head, Biff spotted something underneath a tarp. "What's that?"

The woman seemed startled by the abrupt question as she looked over her shoulder. "Oh, just an old car. It was here when I bought the place."

"An old car?" Biff repeated. "Would you mind if I took a look at it?"

The woman shrugged. "Go ahead."

Biff, followed by Joe and Chet, who were also curious, approached the car and pulled the tarp off. He took in a breath when he saw the car underneath.

"It's a '63 Mustang," he said in much the same voice he might have used to announce a discovery of the Holy Grail. He walked around it in awe and then asked, "Do you mind if I sit in it?"

"Sure," the woman invited him, smiling a little at Biff infectious enthusiasm.

Joe and Chet added their admiration, although Chet was quick to add, "Of course, the Queen's better. Plus, she runs, which is probably better than you can say about this car."

"You mean, she used to run," Joe reminded him.

"Is this car worth anything?" the woman asked. "I guess I haven't really thought anything about it, not even to wonder what I'd do with it."

"Do with it?" Biff repeated, turning around to look at her. "You mean, you don't want it?"

"I don't have any use for it," the woman said. She blushed again under Biff's pleading gaze. "If you want to buy it, I'd be willing to sell."

"Oh, man." Biff gripped the wheel with both hands. As much as he made fun of Chet's jalopy, he had a soft spot for classic cars and had long wished he could find one cheap. He jumped out. "What are you asking for it?"

The woman shrugged and looked around at Biff's friends as if for help. "I don't know what a car like that is worth. It doesn't even run. How about eight hundred?" Biff almost choked. "Is that too much?" the woman asked.

"No, no," Joe hastened to say, since Biff didn't seem like he was able to say a word. "Honestly, you could ask a lot more than that."

If Biff had been standing near enough to him to kick his foot, he would have. However, it turned out that wasn't necessary.

The woman thought what Joe had said over for a minute and then grinned shyly at Biff. "You seem like you really want it, and I don't need the money all that bad. If eight hundred sounds okay to you, it's fine with me."

"It sounds totally fine," Biff managed to say.

The woman held out her hand. "Let's shake on it. My name's Kristine Lewis, by the way. Kristy for short."

Biff shook her hand. "Biff – er, Allen Hooper. Everyone calls me Biff, though."

"Well, then, Biff Hooper," Kristy replied. "It looks like you are now the owner of a '63 Mustang."


	2. The Camera

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thanks for continuing to read and to everyone who has followed this story so far! Most of all, thank you to Cherylann Rivers, Candylou, EvergreenDreamweaver, and max2013 for your reviews on Chapter 1!_

Chapter II

The Camera

"I think I'm in love," Biff announced as he ran his hand along the hood of the '63 Mustang.

"With the car or the girl?" Joe asked teasingly.

Biff blushed a little, embarrassing himself even more. "I meant the car. I'm sure Kristy is already seeing somebody."

"I don't know," Chet kept up the teasing a little longer. "She looked pretty smitten."  
The three of them were in the garage at Chet's parents' place. Kristy hadn't had the right tools to fix the Queen, and so Chet had had to call his dad and ask him to bring his tools, along with the old farm truck that Chet had converted into a tow-truck a few years earlier. Once he had the right tools, Chet soon had the Queen back in working order. Meanwhile, Biff wrote out a check to Kristy, and they figured out the paperwork. When they were finally ready to tow the car, Mr. Morton kindly agreed to let Biff keep it at his farm while he was working on it. Right now, it was sitting in one of Mr. Morton's sheds while Biff and his friends got ready to give it a preliminary looking over.

"Now to look at the engine again," Biff said as he lifted the hood.

"What's left of it," Chet teased him.

While the two of them examined the engine to ascertain which parts would need replaced and which could be repaired, Joe made his way around to the back and opened the trunk out of curiosity. It was empty except for a musty blanket that was wrapped around something. His detective instincts aroused, he carefully unwrapped the blanket. An old camera was inside.

"Hey, guys, look at this," he said, holding the camera up. Then he looked at it more closely. "It's even got a roll of film in it. Come on, Biff, let's get a picture of you next to your new true love."

Chet good-humoredly got out of the way while Biff closed the hood and then went to lean his back against the driver door.

"How's this?" he asked.

"Perfect." Joe snapped the picture.

"Oh, wait," Biff said. "I've got a better idea."

"Too late," Joe replied. "The roll was almost used up. That was the last picture on it, if it'll even turn out. I wonder what the other pictures are."

"Probably just picture of the guy who owned this car and his friends," Chet guessed. "They're probably not that interesting."

"Probably not," Joe conceded, "but whoever it was could still be alive. Maybe he'd want the pictures if we can still develop them."

"Yeah, but how are you going to figure out who he was?" Biff asked.

"I'm a detective, remember?" Joe reminded him. "But this mystery won't be too hard to solve. It's still got its license plates from 1967 on it. I've got connections to find out who it was registered to then, if that's even necessary."

With that, he went around to the front passenger door and opened the glove box. It was empty, so he pulled down the visor on the driver's side. The registration papers were still clipped to it.

"Looks like in 1967, this car belonged to one Jeremy Wilson, who lived at the same address where we bought it," Joe announced.

"That's going to be hard to find him back," Chet said. "There must be dozens of Jeremy Wilsons."

"But not who lived at that address," Joe pointed out. "Kristy probably bought the place from him or his family. She'd be a good place to start tracing him. Even if there was another owner in between her and the Wilsons, she could put us on the track of that owner and then they could put us on the track of Jeremy Wilson. First, though, we should find out whether there's anything on this film at all. Chet, do you still have your dark room stuff from your film photography phase?"

"Yeah, somewhere," Chet replied.

"The bathroom at the agency doesn't have any windows," Joe continued. "It would work as a makeshift dark room. Come on, guys, let's get on it."

"If it's all the same to you, Joe, I'd rather stick around and work on my car," Biff said.

"And I think I'll help him," Chet added. "He could really use the help, and besides, I'm better at working on cars than I ever was at developing film, even when it was my hobby."

Joe tried to hide some disappointment. Naturally, his friends would have other interests that they cared about more than solving mysteries, especially such a bland mystery as this would probably be. Out of everyone he knew, only Frank and their old friend, Nancy Drew Nickerson, understood that part of him. He brightened a little at that thought. There couldn't possibly be anything dangerous about this case, and so neither Frank nor Callie could have any objections to Frank helping him on it. Not only that, but Nancy was a close friend of Vanessa Bender, Tony's fiancée, and she'd be coming for the wedding the next weekend. If Frank and Joe didn't have the case solved by then, maybe Nancy would want to help him investigate.

Fortunately, Joe had ridden his motorcycle to the Morton place that morning, before he, Chet, and Biff had decided to go riding around in the Queen. Chet helped him find the dark room chemicals, paper, and apparatus, and Joe loaded them into the luggage compartment on his cycle. Then he took off, heading first for Frank and Callie's place.

Frank met him at the door. "Well, looks like you survived another ride in the Queen. I wasn't so sure."

"We all survived better than the Queen did," Joe replied with a grin. "Although, you'll never guess what I found when she broke down."

A little glint of anticipation came into Frank's eyes. "A mystery?"

"A small one," Joe said. "Not dangerous at all. Come on. It would be a perfect chance to work together again."

Judging from Frank's eager expression, he would have gladly run out of the house right then with Joe, but then reality sank back on him again. "Like I said earlier, Callie and I have plans to stay in together today. We could use it after the long week we've all had, and besides that, it's going to be one of the last chances Callie and I are going to have to be alone together. Anyway, didn't you work something like ninety hours this week, Joe? Aren't you a little mystery-ed out?"

Joe raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Oh, come on, Frank. Don't get boring on me now. Admit it – you were bored to death doing desk work and research and answering phones all week while Dad and Sam and me got to do all the fun stuff on those cases."

Frank sighed, and Joe knew he was exactly right. "I made a promise, Joe. That's all the more I can do on cases now, whether they're cases for fun or work. I thought you understood that."

"Yeah." Joe nodded. "I just thought maybe you could make an exception this time since there's no possible way this could even be remotely dangerous. But a promise is a promise. I'll tell you all about it when I solve it."

There was a slump to his shoulders as he walked back to his motorcycle. This wasn't going to be like old times, after all. Even if Nancy did help when she came in a few days, working with her was never quite like working with Frank. If only Callie would just stop with this whole anti-detective work kick.

Joe sighed and shook his head as he switched on his motorcycle. No, he couldn't blame Callie, at least not entirely. It was that last case that Frank had done any field work on, back in November. He and Callie had been living in Rome at the time, since they had spent their first year of marriage there while Callie finished her art degree. The case had been an ugly one, but the worst part of it was that Frank had been forced to kill one of the culprits to save Joe's life, and even then, Joe had nearly died from drowning. Frank had never been quite the same since.

Then, also, any time Joe felt like complaining about Frank's change, he had to admit to himself that something had changed in him that day, too. Even so, it was different. While something had died in Frank that day, something had been born in Joe.

It was a little bit like when Joe would be walking down the street in the early fall, and the summer heat would still be weighing down on everything. Then, all at once, a breeze would blow in from the ocean, and instantly, Joe could smell the saltiness and feel it on his lips, and he was ready to throw everything to the side, jump aboard a ship, and sail off on a grand adventure. For a moment, it would feel like it was really possible, and Joe would feel free. Then the breeze would die, and reality would set in. The desire was still there, but it was a burden now, rather than freeing. There were too many insurmountable obstacles to it.

His parents would never understand. Frank would take it as a personal betrayal. Callie would never forgive him. Aunt Gertrude would probably never speak to him. It was hard to say how his friends would react, but it was safe to say that they would never be as close again. He had to make a decision, though, and deep down, he already knew what that decision had to be.

There was a sick feeling in his stomach as he unlocked the door to the office that his father had been renting for years. He carried all the things he would need into the bathroom, which worked very well as a darkroom. He had developed film before, so he knew exactly what he was doing now.

While the prints were stilling hanging up to dry, Joe began to examine them. Several of them were completely incomprehensible, the film evidently damaged sometime in the last fifty years. There were two pictures of a young man in a Marine uniform. One must have been taken when he wasn't expecting it, as he appeared to be laughing about something. In the other, he was more prepared and had struck up a military pose. He couldn't have been more than eighteen, Joe thought.

The rest of the pictures were odd. One showed two men and a woman in business formal clothes talking. It was dark and a little blurry, so Joe couldn't make out their faces. From the angle and the fact that none of them were looking at the camera, Joe thought that they probably hadn't realized they were being photographed.

Another photo showed a '60s Chevy parked in what looked like a dark alley. Joe couldn't see much else about it. The next two were close-ups of tire tracks in a dirt road. Another was of a fingerprint on a car window. The rest were too damaged to even see what they were.

Joe scratched his chin as he looked at them. There was some mystery here; he could feel it. There had to be some way to figure out what it was.

On a whim, when the pictures were dry, he scanned the fingerprint one into the computer and entered it into the database that his father had secured access to for them. Then he waited for a few minutes while the computer checked it against the prints that it had on file.

While he was waiting, he went back to the other pictures and gathered them up. The only ones that might be worth anything to anyone were the ones of the Marine. Joe wondered if he was Jeremy Wilson or a friend, a brother, a son, a cousin. It was hard to tell.

He was still mulling over it when the computer alerted him that it had found a match for the fingerprint. What it showed made Joe's heart beat a little faster. The fingerprint matched one that belonged to a robber who had hit the Bayport Federal Bank on January 12, 1968. Joe immediately looked the case up. A single masked robber had taken one hundred and fifty thousand dollars from the bank at 2:37 in the afternoon. He had been armed with a .45 handgun and had handed a note to the teller without saying a word. The description of him wasn't terribly helpful. He had been wearing a mask and a baseball cap that had disguised his features and his hair color. One witness thought he was blond and another thought he had brown hair. He was approximately a hundred and seventy-five pounds and five-foot-ten. He had been wearing a navy-blue sweater, khaki pants, and white tennis shoes. The only reason there was even a fingerprint of him was because he had unthinkingly picked up a pen that was lying on the front desk while he had waited. By sheer bad luck on his part, it was one that the teller had just put out and the only prints on it were hers and his. Even then, it had only left a partial print, and even that hadn't proven terribly useful, as the robber had never been caught and the money never found.

Joe caught his breath. The pictures in that camera might just be the clues he needed to solve a fifty-year-old cold case.


	3. The Case

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! I'd like to thank in particular everyone who left reviews since I posted chapter 2: Candylou, max2013, EvergreenDreamweaver, Cherylann Rivers, and Caranath. I really appreciate your support and encouragement._

Chapter III

The Case

It was one of those days when Joe felt like he was running behind in everything. He had been up late into the night, reading up on everything he could find on the cold case he had discovered and studying the photos he had found for every possible detail. He'd slept in late because of it, and so he had had to scramble to get to Mass that morning. Father Schwartz, the parish priest, had stopped him to talk. That had taken long enough that he was late getting to his parents' house for their standing Sunday brunch with the whole family.

Aunt Gertrude, his father's sister who had lived with her brother for years, sniffed as Joe came through the door. "What's the matter with you? You look like you haven't slept in a month."

Joe laughed. "It hasn't quite been that long, Auntie."

"Fenton hasn't been keeping you working right through the weekend, has he?" Without waiting for an answer from Joe, she turned toward the dining room and called in a shrill voice, "Fenton, this is too much. Joe still needs to sleep, even if he isn't a growing boy anymore."

Joe chuckled. Aunt Gertrude was just as peppery and forward as she had ever been. At least some things would never change. His smile faded just a little at that thought. No, things had changed, even between him and Aunt Gertrude. With everything that had happened in the last few years, Joe had done some serious reevaluating of his life in just about every area. One choice that had threatened to drive a wedge between him and his aunt was his decision to become a Catholic. Aunt Gertrude, who was strongly Baptist, hadn't ben overly excited about the prospect. They had made their peace now, although Joe knew the time was coming when he would again have to put a strain between him and his aunt, not to mention the rest of his family.

"Morning, Joe." His mother greeted him with a hug and a kiss on his cheek. "Are you all right? Gertrude's pretty worried about you."

"I'm fine," Joe assured her. "I just didn't get to bed as early as I should have last night. I found a new case." By this time, he had gotten to the dining room where everyone was seated around the table.

"So, something came of that camera after all?" Frank asked.

"I'll say," Joe replied. He grabbed a chair and sat down next to Callie.

"It must be quite a case," Callie said, "for you to be so excited about it after the week you had. You should be exhausted from that alone. It isn't anything too dangerous, is it?"

There was a concerned look in her eyes, and Joe guessed what she was thinking. She worried about him with his detective work almost as much as Frank, as he was very much so a brother to her. Not only that, but Joe also thought Callie's conscience was probably pricking her that she was one of the main reasons keeping Frank from working with Joe as they always used to.

"Nah," he assured her, sounding more careless than he intended. "There's no way."

He paused long enough in his explanation for the family to say grace, and then he described how Biff had stumbled on the old Mustang, the camera in the trunk, and the photos that were on the old roll of film. He finished by giving a resumè of the bank robbery case.

Fenton and Frank listened with their whole attention, as did Aunt Gertrude, who was far more intrigued by mysteries than she was willing to let on. Laura and Callie also listened with patient good humor. Each knew the thrill that all three of the Hardy men got from solving cases, though neither of them quite understood the appeal.

"What puzzles me the most is those photographs," Fenton commented. "Who took them? And if they're clues to solving this case, why were they left in the trunk of that car?"

Joe nodded. "I've been wondering the same thing. Jeremy Wilson, the guy who owned the car, would make the most sense as the one who took them. I don't have any idea why he would have just left them in his trunk, though, or why he took them."

"Did you try looking him up?" Frank asked.

"Yeah. Probably not as thoroughly as I should have, but the problem was that there were several Jeremy Wilsons in the area, and I wasn't sure which one was the one I was looking for. I'll look into that today. I have an idea that I might know someone who'll be able to help, and someone else who'll want to be there when I talk to her."

"Sounds like there's not going to be any talking you out of this case." Fenton grinned. "It might be a little tricky to find the time with work."

"Actually," Joe said, "I was thinking after all the overtime I put in last week and since Tony and Van's wedding is this week and Nancy and Ned and everybody are going to be coming maybe…"

Fenton chuckled. "I suppose I could let you have some time off. Just as long as nothing big comes up."

"Thanks, Dad," Joe replied. He glanced over at Frank and it was on the tip of his tongue to ask him to come, but he thought better of it. He knew it wasn't easy for Frank to essentially give up working on cases, but he had both his promise to Callie and his own insecurities about it. Joe could understand and respect both. He wouldn't tempt him.

HBHBHBHBHB

Joe wouldn't have even needed to text Biff and Chet to know that they would be at Chet's parents' place, working on that Mustang. He had to smile when he pulled in front of the garage and saw Biff leaning over the engine while Chet was frantically writing something down on a pad of paper.

"How goes it?" Joe called as he got out of his own car. "Think she's going to make it?"

"I think it's terminal," Chet replied with a smirk.

Biff gave them both a withering glance for their teasing. "You guys just wait till I have this beauty fixed up."

"We'll wait, all right." Chet waved the paper he had been writing on. "Your list of what's wrong is longer than my list for the Queen."

Biff shrugged. "So, I'll have to order a few new parts."

"By the time you order all those parts, you'll be ordering a whole new car," Chet went on.

Joe laughed. "Looks like Kristy was taking advantage of you. You wanna go get your money back?"

"You guys really are the worst." Biff turned back to his examination of the engine.

"Seriously, though," Joe went on, "I was wondering if you guys wanted to take a break from the car and go call on Kristy. I want to ask her about who she bought her place from, if she knows anything about Jeremy Wilson, stuff like that."

"You must have found something interesting in that camera," Chet observed.

"I sure did." Joe explained the whole story for the second time that day.

"I'm game to go," Biff said, wiping his oily hands on a rag.

Chet and Joe couldn't resist teasing him a little, but Joe knew well enough how little he would have appreciated being teased about something like that so soon after he had broken up with Iola Morton, and so he soon changed the subject. Even so, Biff seemed just a little bit put out, which was unusual for him, since he was normally good-natured.

He wasn't one to keep his thoughts to himself for long, though. Before they had been in Joe's car for ten minutes, he turned halfway round so he could see both Joe and Chet. "Do you guys like what you're doing?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Chet asked. "Like, riding in the car?"

Biff rolled his eyes. "No. I didn't mean what you're doing right this second; I meant your jobs and all the stuff you do day to day."

"Oh, well," Chet said, "I guess I'm getting a little tired of working in the shop. I saw an ad the other day for a job with a TV station. That sounds exciting."

Joe turned his head so that Chet wouldn't be able to see his smirk in the rearview mirror. "How about you, Biff? You getting tired of working in the shop?"

"Not exactly." Biff frowned as he tried to put together exactly what he was trying to say. "It's a good job, it pays fair, and the hours aren't too bad. The problem is that it just is, if you know what I mean."

"I think I do," Joe said.

"I don't know." Biff frowned. "I mean, your job is super cool and important and worthwhile."

"Yeah. I guess it is." Yet, Joe's tone wasn't quite convinced.

By the time they had reached Kristy Lewis's house, Chet had completely done away with the serious mood by talking about the TV station job almost nonstop and half-convincing himself to actually go for it.

Kristy was surprised to see the three young men return, though not displeased, especially in the case of one of them. She listened with a thoughtful expression as Joe explained the reason for the visit. Being experienced as a detective, he would have preferred to keep as much of the story to himself as possible, but every time he left something out, Chet would immediately fill in the detail.

"That's so interesting." It was Kristy's tone and the light in her eyes more than her words that showed that she really was intrigued. "I've never helped solve a mystery before. What do you want me to do?"

"Just answer some questions," Joe told her. "First off, who did you buy this place from?"

Kristy bit her lower lip as she tried to remember. "I bought it through a realtor, so I never actually talked to the previous owners. I don't remember what their names were. I'll have to go look at the papers." She started to turn away from the door when she realized that she hadn't even invited her visitors in yet and that the entire conversation so far had taken place on her front porch. "Come on in and sit down. It might take me a couple of minutes. I hope you don't mind the mess."

The house looked like a disaster had taken place inside. The front door led into a living room which was piled half-full with packing boxes. The other half had two armchairs and a dining room table with six matching chairs, along with a large TV and a loveseat. The walls and floor were bare and badly in need of repair. However, the furniture was practically new and must have been expensive.

"Here it is," Kristy said, coming through one of the old-fashioned doors that led out of the room, several papers in her hand. "The people I bought it from are named Greenspan. Tyrel and Shari Greenspan. I have a phone number here, if that helps."

"Yes, it would," Joe replied, noting down the number. "I don't suppose you have any idea where they moved to."

Kristy shook her head. "Your guess is as good as mine. Is there anything else I can do?"

"It looks like you're making some major renovations to this house," Joe observed. "Was there anything in it when you bought it?"

"Not the house, no," Kristy said. "The barn was pretty much full. You saw it yesterday. Everything out there was there when I bought it. Do you think there's secret panels in the walls or the floor and that hundred and fifty thousand dollars is hidden behind them?"

Joe grinned. "I'd be surprised. If the bank robber lived here, he would have taken the money with him, if he hadn't spent it by then."

"Oh." Kristy's face fell slightly, but then she quickly explained, "It's not like I need the money – or rather, the reward for returning the money. It just would be exciting, you know? I've never had anything like that happen to me before."

"So, where are you from?" Biff asked. Though the mystery interested him, he felt it was high time the conversation took a friendlier and less business-like direction.

"Seattle," Kristy replied. "Yeah, I know; I'm a long way from home, and Bayport is kind of a funny place to end up. I just wanted to go on an adventure and have my own space where nobody knows my family or expects anything of me. See, both my parents are lawyers and are brilliant and rich and everyone's always bugging me about why I don't study law. Thing is, sometimes what everyone expects of you isn't what you need to do and you've got to chase your dreams even if they don't make sense anybody else."

It was almost a shock to Joe how close to home Kristy's words struck. "What are you going to do then? If you don't mind me asking, of course," he added quickly.

Kristy blushed, clearly embarrassed despite her brave words earlier. "That's the thing. I don't know exactly what I want to do. I know dozens of things I don't want to do and several things that I'd like to do, but I don't see how I can. I came back here trying to figure it out. At the moment, I've got a job at the hospital here in admittance. I guess it doesn't make sense to move all the way across the country just to get a job like that."

They talked for a long time. It turned out that Kristy was a very frank woman who was easy to talk to and made her visitors feel that they had known her much longer than just shy of twenty-four hours. Finally Joe, who was beginning to feel anxious to get back to work on the case, said that they would have to go. He and Chet stood up and said good-bye to Kristy, thanking her for her help and her hospitality, and went outside to the car. Biff, however, lingered a minute or two longer.

"It's been really nice to meet you, Kristy," he said, feeling that every word sounded pathetically stupid. "Thanks again for selling the car to me for such a good price. She needs a lot of work, but I'll have her fixed up before too long. I was wondering if maybe you'd like to see her when she's finished and maybe go for a ride in her."

Kristy smiled. "I'd like that."


	4. Concerns

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! Thank you in particular to EvergreenDreamweaver, max2013, Cherylann Rivers, Candylou, and Caranath for your reviews on chapter 3!_

Chapter IV

Concerns

Joe was up early the next morning. He didn't necessarily have a plan to continue tackling the case, but at least he could get up and get moving around which always helped him think. He had called Tyrel and Shari Greenspan the evening before but hadn't learned much from them. They said that they had bought that house about twenty years earlier. They didn't remember for sure what the family's name was, but Wilson sounded familiar. The Mustang had been in the barn then, and since neither of them had an interest in classic cars or in cleaning the barn out, they had just let it sit there. They hadn't any idea where the former owners of the house might have went or how to find out, as the realtor through whom they had bought the house had gone out of business since then.

It was a bit of a let-down, Joe had to admit, although he also had to admit that cases that were easy to solve were almost as disappointing. He enjoyed a good challenge, and so he wasn't too discouraged as he sat down at his table in his small apartment. While he let his plans simmer in the back of his mind, he poured himself a bowl of Reese's Puffs and picked up his tablet to skim through the local morning news. A front headline caught his eye right away:

 **POLICE CHIEF COLLIG ANNOUNCES RETIREMENT**

"Ugh," Joe groaned. "Is it ever going to stop?"

He scanned through the article, which was primarily a summary of the major moments in Chief Collig's police career. Joe could have added a lot to it. The Chief had always been a good friend of Fenton and a mentor to Frank and Joe. Without a man who understood them so well and had so much confidence in them in charge of the police force, Frank and Joe never would have had the success they had enjoyed as amateur sleuths, which in turn had leant much to their success as professionals. Chief Collig would certainly be missed as chief of police, although Joe also had to admit that he had earned his retirement well.

"Just another change I'll have to get used to," he said to himself.

He had begun looking through the headlines for anything else interesting when his phone buzzed with a call from Callie.

"Hey, Sis. How's it going?"

"As well as can be expected," Callie replied with a good-natured groan. "I really want to just get through these last few weeks. I wasn't calling you to complain, though. I was wondering if you've been on social media at all this morning."

"No. You know I only really use it to check up on suspects, and I seriously doubt anyone would have posted anything about this fifty-year-old case I'm on."

"Don't count on that," Callie told him. "Somebody did, although it's not going to help you at all."

"What…" Joe started to ask, but he didn't need to fully form the question for Callie to answer it.

"It's all over everything this morning – Facebook, Twitter, Instagram – that you're working on the case and have some pretty good leads," she explained. "I did a little investigating myself, and it looks like it started with a post on Instagram by a Kristine Lewis."

"Oh, man." Joe pressed his hand against his face as he tried to summon the willpower to deal with this. It was his own fault, after all. He should have asked Kristy to keep the whole thing to herself. "Okay," he said aloud. "I guess it's not the end of the world. It probably won't make any difference that practically everyone in town must know about it by now, not to mention the rest of the world."

"Well, I doubt a bank robber from fifty years ago would even know what Instagram is," Callie replied. "I wish it wouldn't have happened, though, just in case."

"Don't worry about it," Joe reassured her. "I can get away from a ninety-year-old bank robber if he comes to get me."

"He might only be seventy," Callie teased him.

"Oh, well, I'll have to watch my step then."

Callie laughed, but then she became more serious. "Are you sure you'll be okay, Joe? This isn't a case that's worth taking any risks over."

"I'll be fine, Cal. I won't even take any risks."

"Since when did you do anything without taking risks?"

"Really, Callie, it's as safe as anything else would be," Joe said. "Anyway, if there are any risks – at least, risks as in a seventy- to ninety-year-old bank robber who's suddenly willing to hurt people to keep his secrets buried or something like that – then it is worth taking them. If someone is dangerous to me as an investigator, they'll be dangerous to other people, and they need to be stopped."

"Yeah," Callie agreed half-heartedly. "I just wish there was a safer way to stop them."

"Well, I won't be doing anything dangerous today," Joe told her. "I think I'll go down to City Hall and see if I can find some records of who owned that property with the car in the '60s."

"Good," Callie said. "At least I won't have to worry about you for a few hours that way."

HBHBHBHBHB

Frank rubbed his eyes. It was only nine in the morning, and they were already bleary from going through this massive number of emails. The client thought there might be proof in some of them that his head accountant was embezzling thousands of dollars a month from his company, but so far it looked like either the accountant was too smart to put proof of his crimes in an email or someone else was doing the embezzling. Either way, it didn't make much difference to Frank. This case was just going to be another one that he'd spend hours and hours staring at a computer screen and then have to testify in court, while if anything exciting at all happened with it, his dad, Joe, and Sam would get to take care of it. Frank tried to tell himself that he wasn't the slightest bit jealous, but he couldn't quite convince himself. At any rate, he told himself, he had Callie and he had his soon-to-be-born son, and they were more important than getting an adrenaline rush every now and then.

The bell above the door to the office jangled, and Frank looked up to see Captain Bryce O'Rourke of the Bayport Police Department entering. He was in his early fifties and had been on the force for about thirty years, during which time he had worked himself up until he was head of Narcotics and Burglary Divisions. Although the Hardys had always found him a good officer to work with, none of them were particular friends with him outside of work. Because of that, Frank assumed he was here on business.

"Morning, Frank," O'Rourke hailed him in a friendly tone. "Is Joe in yet this morning?"

"Morning, Captain," Frank returned the greeting. "No, Joe's not coming in today. You'll have to try calling him, unless I can help you with something."

"Oh, maybe. It could wait, too. I just wanted to ask him a few questions about this case he's working on."

"What case?" Frank asked, genuinely not knowing what O'Rourke meant since the only case they had worked on that involved Narcotics or Burglary recently had been wrapped up weeks ago.

"The cold case that's blowing up all over the Internet. He must have told you about it."

"Yeah, he did." Frank wrinkled his brow in confusion. "Why are you interested in it?"

O'Rourke shrugged. "Curiosity, mostly. Not so much about the case, but why Joe's so interested in it all the sudden."

"You'd have to ask Joe that," Frank replied cagily, as not giving out information about cases without a good reason was second nature to him, even in talking to a police officer.

O'Rourke nodded, no disappointment showing anywhere on his face. He shrugged one shoulder. "I guess it doesn't make much difference. I was just coming past here and thought I'd stop in. It just seems funny to me that a successful detective would waste his time on an old case like this."

"It's his own time," Frank replied. "He has it off, and he can do whatever he wants with it."

"Sure. It's just that if he wants to solve cases for the fun of it, I've got half a dozen he could work on."

Frank chuckled. "No doubt, but you're a detective; you should understand. Most of the time, you're stuck doing stuff like this." He gestured toward the computer, even though O'Rourke couldn't see what was on the screen. "Most of the time, it's the most obvious person that's behind it. The cases are tiring but not really that hard to figure. This one, though, is a real mystery. I mean, it's gone unsolved for fifty years. Any detective to whom this work is more than just a job would love to have the chance to tackle it."

O'Rourke put up his hands and laughed. "You got me there. I was forgetting who I was talking to and about for a minute. You Hardys must eat, sleep, and breathe mysteries. Are you working on the case, too, then?"

The question struck Frank hard, and for a second, he wished he could say yes. Then he remembered why he had to say no. He gave a half-smile. "There are some things more important than mysteries, I suppose."

"So you're really hanging it up?" O'Rourke asked, shaking his head. "Police work is going to be different around Bayport without you, and now with the Chief retiring…"

"The Chief? Retiring?"

"Yeah, haven't you heard? It just made the papers this morning, but I would have figured you would have heard earlier. He'll be retiring at the end of the year."

"Things will be different then," Frank said. After a moment, he added, "The police commissioners will have to find a new chief." He wasn't really interested in gossiping about it, but he would rather do that than have O'Rourke go back to the subject of Joe's case.

"Everyone in the department is already talking about that," O'Rourke replied. "They're all debating who the commissioners are going to promote or whether they'll bring in someone new."

"After thirty years on the force and being a captain, you've probably got a good chance," Frank commented.

O'Rourke looked down at his hands and shifted his feet in embarrassment. "That's what some of them are saying. Me and Olaf are the favorites, from the sounds of it."

"What do you think?" Frank asked. He didn't really care, and he would have rather if O'Rourke had gone on his way, but O'Rourke's visit was bothering him and he wanted to try to understand what was sending up an alarm to him before the officer went on his way.

"I don't know," O'Rourke said. "Being chief would mean more money and be a pretty big honor, but it would also be more headache, stress, long hours. I'm trying not to think too much about it. If they ask me, I'll probably take it, and if they don't, I'll be fine with that, too. Well, anyhow, I'd better be getting to work. See you another time, Frank."

"See you," Frank called after him as he left.

As soon as the door closed behind the officer, Frank reached for his phone and was about to send a text to Callie that he wouldn't be home over his lunch hour, but then he stopped himself. He only had a vague feeling of discomfort over O'Rourke's interest in his brother's case, and he could be wrong. He probably was wrong. It wasn't worth breaking his promise to Callie over. There wasn't much that was worth that.


	5. Jeremy Wilson

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to Guest, max2013, Cherylann Rivers, Candylou, and EvergreenDreamweaver for your reviews on the last chapter! Hopefully, this chapter will shed a little light on Frank's decision at the end of the last chapter, mostly by explaining exactly what Frank's decision was. ;)_

Chapter V

Jeremy Wilson

It took an hour or two to go through the City Hall records and learn that the house that now belonged to Kristy Lewis was once owned in the '60s by a couple named John and Katherine Wilson. Bayport had been a fair-sized town since the early 1900s, and when Joe looked it up, he found that it had had a population of about fifty thousand in 1968. There had probably been several John Wilsons and several Katherine Wilsons, but Joe reasoned that there couldn't have been more than two or three John Wilsons married to a Katherine. Then, also, there was Jeremy, who had owned the Mustang. Since he wasn't listed as an owner of the house, most likely he was John and Katherine's son. The chances of there being more than one John and Katherine Wilson with a son named Jeremy in 1968 in Bayport weren't very high.

The next step was to confirm that Jeremy really was John and Katherine's son. Joe began going through the birth records and discovered that Jeremy Wilson was born April 2, 1950 to John and Katherine Wilson of the correct address.

"1950," Joe mused aloud. "That means he was eighteen in 1968 when the robbery happened. How much you wanna bet he was a Marine?" He instinctively looked to the side, but no one was there. "Right," he muttered, feeling foolish.

His next stop was at the office of the _Bayport Times_ , where he spent the next hour and a half looking through the papers printed in 1968. He couldn't help groaning a little in frustration when he found that he could have learned everything he had found out at City Hall right here in addition to a great deal more details that were even more helpful, and in a lot less time.

The facts of the case as he understood them when he finished reading through the papers were that Jeremy "Jerry" Wilson, the son of John and Katherine Wilson of Bayport, had garnered a bit of a reputation as an amateur sleuth as a teenager. At seventeen, he had helped the local police solve two minor cases, one involving a stolen car and the other concerning a rash of vandalism in a poor neighborhood. Then, on January 12, 1968, the bank was robbed, and Jerry apparently decided it was time for him to graduate. He began working on the case, although Joe had a hunch that he hadn't been the one to give the story to the newspaper. Apparently, though, Jerry didn't solve the case. It was still open four months later in April when Jerry had his eighteenth birthday. The day after that, he had enlisted in the Marine Corps and two months later was shipped out to Vietnam. On March 30, 1969, only a few days before his nineteenth birthday, Private Jeremy Wilson was killed in action.

Joe was silent for a few minutes. Then he went outside and climbed into his car to plan out his next move. While he was still considering, his phone buzzed with a text. It was from Frank, asking him to stop by the office when he got the chance, so that was what he did next.

"Hey, Frank," he greeted him as he came into the office. "What's up? You guys can't hold this place together for one day without me?"

Frank tried not to grin but wasn't entirely successful. "No. In fact, things have gone smoother around here today than they have in months. Actually, I had a couple of things I wanted to tell you."

"Okay, shoot." Joe sat down on the front desk.

"We have chairs, you know," Frank reminded him.

"Yeah, but who uses them unless Dad's around?" Joe bantered, but then he dropped his voice. "He's not, is he?"

"No. He and Sam are both out. Whatever. The first thing is, do you know that everyone in town knows you're working on that cold case?"

"Yeah, Callie warned me about that earlier," Joe said. "It doesn't make much difference. I mean, who's going to care about a fifty-year-old case?"

"I know one person who cares, although I don't know why. Captain O'Rourke was in here earlier and was asking me about it. It just seemed strange since he'd never done anything like that before. I was going to use my lunch hour to do some investigating into O'Rourke, but then I thought I'd better leave that to you."

To Frank's surprise, Joe laughed. "You're suspicious of O'Rourke? He's been with the Bayport Police for, like, a hundred years. He was probably one of the guys who responded to that bank robbery, and he's just curious that I'm trying to solve a case he never could."

"That would have been a little tough considering that he was only about three when the robbery happened," Frank pointed out.

"Wasn't his dad a cop, too?" Joe asked. "His dad probably worked on the case. He's just curious. You and I should be able to understand that if anybody can."

Frank relaxed. He trusted Joe's instincts about people more than his own. "True. I guess if I heard about someone investigating one of ours or Dad's unsolved cases, I'd be curious, too."

"What do you mean 'our unsolved cases'?" Joe teased. "The Hardy Boys always get their man. It said so in the paper once."

Although Joe was obviously joking, Frank didn't smile. The color in his cheeks faded and his breath sped up.

"Frank? You okay?" Joe asked, turning serious at once.

"Yeah," Frank replied, too quickly to be convincing. "It's just…I…Well…" He stopped and took a deep breath. "You said Callie called you earlier? Has she been bothering you?"

Joe stood and gave Frank a questioning look. "Of course not. What are you talking about?"

Frank stared at the floor, at a loss for how to explain for the moment. "She mentioned she was worried about you, and she can be a little intense about that."

For a minute or two, both were silent. Frank hadn't said what was really on his mind, and Joe knew it. Joe's first impulse was to say so, but he knew that that wasn't the best way to deal with Frank.

"I don't mind if Callie worries about me," he said. "With all the dumb things I've done, she's got every right to worry about me. Besides, I think she thinks she's the reason I don't have you watching my back every minute anymore, and so she feels like she'd be partly responsible if something happened to me. She wouldn't be, though."

"Yeah," Frank agreed, although he continued to keep his focus on the floor, "but I would be."

"Frank, you're not letting me down keeping your promise to Callie," Joe told him. "Callie needs to come first for you. That's the way marriage is supposed to work. We both knew that when you got married it was going to change things between us. Maybe we didn't expect to ever not work together, but we should have. It would have happened eventually."

"Why?" Frank asked.

The words froze on Joe's tongue. Now wasn't the time. Right now, they were talking about Frank; Joe didn't need to turn the conversation to himself. At least, that was the excuse he gave himself. "I… don't… It just would have, one way or another. Besides, this isn't about Callie and how much she worries, is it? It's about what happened in Rome."

Frank closed his eyes and bit his lip. He didn't answer, but he didn't need to for Joe to understand.

"I know it's hard to accept," Joe said, "but there really wasn't anything else you could do, and I've got to admit, I'm kinda glad you did it."

"I know." Frank sighed. "I just…"

"Never thought you'd have to do something like that," Joe finished for him. "It's the same with me, stupid as it sounds. We both should have known it would happen some time, especially as we got older and took on bigger criminals. We'd been lucky for so long, I guess. I don't really know what I'm getting at."

Frank shook his head. "You know the worst part about it? When I get to feeling sick thinking about how I killed a man, I remind myself that if I hadn't pulled that trigger, he would have killed you. Then of all stupid things, I start feeling guilty about feeling guilty. I feel like you must think…"

Joe held up his hand. "I don't think that you'd rather see me dead than have to face the fact that you killed someone. Your brain's going to tell you that, but you've got to find a way to not listen."

"Yeah." Frank took a deep breath. He didn't like to let anyone see him in a mood like this, even Joe. When a suspect had tried to kill Joe and had hit Iola by mistake years earlier, Frank had been there to talk Joe through it. It didn't seem right for it to be the other way around.

It wasn't hard for Joe to guess what he was thinking. It was about time to relieve some tension. "You know, I'm trying to think of a joke right now, I can't think of any," he said.

"That's a first," Frank replied, almost automatically teasing his brother.

Joe grinned. "You know what we need to do? We've been too serious around here for too long. When Phil and Nancy and Ned and all the rest get into town, we should do something fun."

"Fun like riding around in Chet's broken-down jalopy?"

"I don't think we'd all fit." Joe pretended to take Frank seriously. "I was thinking something more exciting, like sky-diving. Oh, but I guess Callie probably wouldn't quite be up to that right at the moment."

"Now I know you're not serious," Frank replied, although he had a shadow of a smile on his face.

"That's the point," Joe told him. "No, actually, I was thinking something more like an old-fashioned beach party. We could grill hamburgers and hotdogs. Phil, Ned, or Dave will have to do that, though, since they're the only certified dads in our group, although you need to start getting into practice with that sort of thing. We'll have it in the evening, so we can have a big bonfire. We should play volleyball, too. Somebody should have a net. We'll get Vanessa to stop being bridezilla, too, so she and Tony can come." He started counting on his fingers. "You, Callie, Chet, whoever Chet's dating now, Biff, Tony, Vanessa, Iola, Tyler, Phil, Lisa…"

"Hold on," Frank cut him off. " _You_ want to have a beach party?" Years earlier, in the same case when Iola had been shot, Joe had also been shot in the arm. The bullet had left an ugly scar on Joe's upper arm, and ever since then, Joe had been careful to always wear shirts with sleeves long enough to cover it. Because of that, in all those years, he hadn't been to the beach in years.

Instinctively, Joe put his hand over where the scar was underneath his sleeve, but just as quickly he took it away. "Yeah. It's about time, don't you think? This'll be good for both of us."

"All right," Frank agreed with a real smile this time. He knew Joe was mostly doing this for him, but Joe was right that this would be good for both of them. What was more, seeing that Joe was finally defeating his demons gave him hope that maybe he could defeat his own.

"Okay, so where was I." Joe went back to his counting. "Phil, Lisa, two kids for them, Jerry, Melissa, Nancy, Ned, and one kid for them, Bess, Dave, and another kid, George, Burt, and maybe I'll invite Kristy Lewis, too. I think she and Biff kind of have a thing for each other. Am I missing anybody?"

"You," Frank reminded him.

"Oh, yeah." Joe chuckled. "Okay, so that's twenty-one adults and four kids. Most of the kids are under a year old, so they probably won't eat any hotdogs, right?"

"Probably not."

"That's still a lot of hotdogs and hamburgers and everything else. Oh well. I'll start checking around to see which evening works for everyone. I'm thinking Thursday. I'll send out a text to everybody right now."

Frank shook his head as he watched his brother compile all the names into one long list and wrote out a text outlining his plan. Spontaneously planning a beach party for over twenty people was such a Joe sort of thing to do, and yet Joe hadn't done anything like it in ages. Maybe some changes weren't so bad after all.


	6. Developments

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! In particular, thank you to everyone who has left reviews on chapter 5: Candylou, max2013, Cherylann Rivers, Caranath (I thought that was you!), and EvergreenDreamweaver._

Chapter VI

Developments

Joe didn't get any further on his investigation that day. He had ended up staying at the office all afternoon, helping Frank go through the mountain of emails for the embezzling case, despite Frank's protests. It had hit Joe that before long, he and Frank really wouldn't be investigating cases together at all, and so even a mundane task like this had been hard to turn down.

For his part, Frank was grateful, even if he did tell Joe multiple times that he didn't have to help. It cut down the time that he had to spend on this by half, but more than that, he didn't want to be left alone to his thoughts. He didn't like the idea of leaving the agency, now that it was getting closer to the start of his graduate program, but he hated even more the idea of letting Callie down or allowing himself to ever get into a situation like the one back in Rome again. It was a dilemma that had no solution. He had to choose one path and take whatever came, but even that wasn't so simple. In all his twenty-six years so far, he had never been able to go long without stumbling on mysteries of one kind or another, and every time he was going to have to make a decision to take the challenge or not. He could only hope that, with time, it would get easier.

HBHBHBHBHB

The next morning, Joe was woken up by someone frantically pounding on his front door. Giving a sleepy groan, he rolled over and reached for his phone on the nightstand next to his bed. It showed two missed calls and a half a dozen texts, all from Biff Hooper. Worse than that, it showed that the time was a quarter past four in the morning. Joe wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or alarmed at his friend's insistence in getting hold of him at this early hour.

Without bothering to read the texts, he stumbled out of bed and to the door. Biff was standing outside, his hand raised to knock again.

"What's the big idea?" Joe asked, rubbing his eyes.

Instead of answering the question, Biff said, "I was starting to think something happened to you. Why didn't you answer your phone?"

"I was asleep, like any normal person would be at this time of the morning," Joe replied. "Why aren't you asleep?"

"Couldn't," Biff said. "I spent the rest of the afternoon after I got back from work yesterday finishing the list of new parts I need for the Mustang. I hate to admit it, but Chet's right about it being a lot."

Joe stared at him blankly. "I really hope you didn't wake me up just to tell me that."

"No. I started worrying about being able to find all the parts and whether it would take forever to get them and all of that, so I've been up, looking it up on the Internet where I could find parts. There's this guy over in Gillespie who deals in parts for classic cars, and on his website, he had a bunch of the parts I'm going to need listed."

"So?"

"So, it would cost too much and take longer to order them online and have them shipped here, so I'm want to go pick them up in person."

"What does that have to do with being awake this early?" Joe asked.

"I have to work the afternoon shift today, which doesn't start till noon. It takes three hours to drive to Gillespie, so leaving now would put us there after seven, which is when the guy opens, and that gives us plenty of time to pick out the parts I need before we'd have to head back?"

"Us?" Joe repeated. "Why 'us'? Why not 'you'?"

"Like I said, it takes three hours to drive to Gillespie, and I've been up most of the night." Biff looked hopeful. "I thought maybe you'd be willing to drive while I took a nap."

Joe sighed. Leave it to Biff to ask for something like this at the last possible minute. Still, Joe wasn't one to refuse his friends when they asked for help. "Okay. But you're going to owe me one. Let me get dressed at least, though."

He threw on some clothes and shoes and grabbed his phone and wallet. He was about to head out the door again when he saw the photographs from the old camera sitting on his counter, and he grabbed them, too. Might as well examine them closer while Biff was looking at car parts. Maybe he would spot something he had missed.

They were about an hour down the road when Biff, who was doing much less napping and much more talking than he had led Joe to believe he would, turned himself halfway round in his seat to stretch his back. "Man, I must be getting old…" he started to complain, but then the photographs on the backseat caught his attention. He picked them up. "What are these?"

Joe glanced at them. "The photos from that camera I found in the trunk of the Mustang. I figured I'd bring them along and look them over again. What do you think? See any clues there?"

Biff was going through the photographs one at a time. "Unless they're some kind of weird artistic thing, they're not that great of pictures. Definitely not taken by a professional photographer."

The comment was so far removed from what Joe had been asking that he had to shake his head. "I think they were taken by the Marine in the first two."

"He must have known some great camera tricks to take pictures of himself like that," Biff said. "Didn't even have a selfie stick or anything."

Joe rolled his eyes. "He's the fellow who owned your Mustang, Jeremy Wilson."

At that information, Biff looked more closely at the photos of him. "He definitely had good taste in cars. Did you learn anything else about him?"

"He was an amateur sleuth. Solved a couple of small cases, although he wasn't so successful with the bank robbery. He was killed in Vietnam in 1969." Both men were respectfully silent for a moment or two, before Joe went on, "There are a lot of pieces to still fit into this puzzle. Who are the people in the one photo? What are the car and the tire tracks? Where did he find a fingerprint of the crook?"

"Did you try checking out the license plate of the car?" Biff asked.

Joe didn't answer right away, too embarrassed and flustered that he had missed such an obvious clue. "No. That's not a bad idea."

When they were nearly to Gillespie, Joe's phone rang. Joe glanced at the screen. It was Captain Olaf of the Bayport Police calling. Joe's breath caught in his throat. When he was working on a case involving the police, it was no unusual thing for Olaf to call him. After all, Olaf was the head of Homicide, Robbery, and Missing Persons Divisions, and most of the Hardys' cases fell in at least one of those categories. But for Olaf to call – especially so early in the morning – when there wasn't a case heralded trouble.

Joe snatched up the phone immediately. "Hello? What happened?"

"Joe, relax," Olaf replied with almost a chuckle. "Nothing happened – at least, not the kind of thing you're thinking."

That was reassuring. "Okay. Sorry, Skipper."

Olaf was never one to take his time getting to the point, which in the past had caused some hard feelings between him and Joe, although they had long ago smoothed that over. "I know it's early, but I just got to work and there was some news on my desk that I thought you'd be interested in. It's about our old acquaintance from that _Macbeth_ case all those years ago."

For the second time in the space of a minute, Joe's breath stopped. This time, his heart did, too. That case was the one where Iola and himself had both been shot, the case that had haunted him for years. In the past few months, Joe had been doing much better than he had in a long time. He had even managed to pay the one who had done the shooting, Terry Shanth, a visit in prison, which had helped him find closure. Even so, he had no desire to have that case reopen. "Terry or Clarissa Margot?" he asked, naming the other living culprit. "Don't tell me one of them got out."

"No, but Terry tried – the hard way. He somehow got hold of a piece of broken glass and slit his wrists."

"You mean he's dead?"

"Not that either. A guard found him in time. He's all right. Pity, huh?"

A few years ago, Joe would have agreed heartily with this sentiment, but he surprised himself when he didn't now. "He's where he can't hurt anybody, except himself, apparently. That's good enough for me."

"I hope you're right," Olaf replied. "There's another part of the message that's specifically for you. Ever since it happened early Sunday morning, Shanth has refused to say a word except that he wants to see you."

"Me?" Joe replied. "What for?"

"Apparently, he hasn't said," Olaf told him. "Maybe he's got another piece of glass that he figures on saving for you. Of course, the prison officials don't expect you to go visit him, but they wanted us to pass the word on anyway."

"Why did they go through you?"

"They don't have your personal number, so the best they could do was to contact the agency yesterday morning. Your dad took the call, and apparently told them flat-out that the last thing you needed was to hear something like that and he wouldn't pass the word on to you. They decided to try us, just on the long shot that you'd actually come."

"Uh huh." Joe fell silent, a tiny bit annoyed that his dad hadn't intended to let him make that decision for himself. "Well, thanks, Skipper."

As he put the phone down again, Biff gave him an apprehensive look. "What was that about those creeps, Terry and Clarissa?"

Joe explained. "I wonder what he wants to see me for." After his initial fear that Terry or Clarissa had escaped from the penitentiary and would no doubt be coming back to Bayport to again try to take their revenge, he was strangely calm about the matter. He was also curious. Years ago, Terry had set out to get his revenge on Joe's dad, who had been forced to kill Terry's father in the line of duty back when Fenton was part of the NYPD. Somehow, though, Joe had acquired Terry's special hatred, and so the idea that Terry wanted to talk to him was odd, to say the least.

"Biff, there would be a bus from Gillespie to New York, wouldn't there?" Joe asked suddenly.

"Yeah, I guess." Biff looked at him skeptically. "You're not actually going to go talk to that… that…" Words failed him when it came to describing the person who had hurt his friends so deeply.

"I already did once, remember? It didn't kill me that time. I don't know. I curious enough find out what he wants."

"He probably just wants to… I don't know. Blame you for everything that's ever gone wrong in his life, or something."

"He's already done that," Joe reminded him. "I think I'd better go see what he wants."

"If you're so bound and determined to go," Biff said, "then maybe I'd better call in to work and…"

"No," Joe told him. "You don't have to do that. Save your time off for doing something fun."

Biff tried arguing it for the rest of the way, but Joe stubbornly held onto his intention of going and going alone. When they reached Gillespie, they parted ways, Joe heading for the bus station where he bought a ticket to New York City and Biff, not without misgivings, heading to the shop that was his original destination.

On the way back to Bayport, his mission satisfactorily completed, Biff's phone rang. When he saw that it was Kristy Lewis calling, he was glad that Joe wasn't in the car with him after all, even if he would have rather it was under other circumstances.

"Hi," Kristy greeted him after he had answered. "I hope I'm not bothering you. I just thought you and your friend, Joe, would want to hear about this, you know, with the case and everything."

"Oh." Biff couldn't help feeling a little disappointed that that was the reason for Kristy's call. "What is it?"

"I've got to admit, I'm pretty intrigued by the whole thing," Kristy said. "I've actually got two things to tell you. First, I was looking around in my barn to see if I could find any other clues or anything. That was the only place where stuff was left behind, remember? Anyway, I found a box full of notebooks and stuff and most of them have Jeremy Wilson's name in the front. I haven't had time to look through them to see what they say, but maybe there's something important there."

"What was the other thing?" Biff asked.

"There was someone who came to my house and was asking me about that car I sold you."


	7. The Last Link

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially Highflyer, max2013, EvergreenDreamweaver, BMSH, Cherylann Rivers, and Caranath for your reviews since I posted chapter 6!_

Chapter VII

The Last Link

The scene was almost exactly the same as seven months earlier when Joe had done this the first time. The biggest difference was that that time, he had worked himself up so much that he had felt sick, but this time, apart from a rapid heartbeat and an instinct to be on guard, he was calm and collected. He'd been planning exactly what he wanted to say to Terry Shanth. Of course, he still had no idea what his old enemy wanted to talk to him about, but that didn't matter. He had his own message he'd been meaning to deliver, and the mysterious summons just made it seem like the time had come.

Joe was seated on one side of the glass partition, waiting for Terry to be led in to the other. Terry was still in the infirmary, as Joe had been told, but he was so insistent on wanting to see Joe and his condition was improved enough that the prison doctor had given permission for the meeting to take place, although given the young men's past, it was going to have to happen in the normal visiting room rather than any possibility of it taking place in the infirmary. That was fine with Joe. This was going to be hard enough through glass.

A minute or two later, a door opened, and Terry entered with a guard following him. Joe couldn't help shuddering at the sight of the man who had done him and everyone he loved so much harm, but he didn't look away. He kept his eyes resolutely on Terry, whose face was haggard and pale and whose wrists were still wrapped in bandages. Terry sat down across from Joe and stared at him with an odd expression. It wasn't the hate-filled glare that Joe had been expecting, but whatever it was, it was still unnerving.

Terry continued to stare for several minutes. Joe had intended to let Terry say whatever he had to say first, but as Terry continued to stare and say nothing, Joe became uncomfortable and cleared his throat.

"I heard you wanted to talk to me?"

There was still no answer from Terry.

Joe shifted in his seat. "I guess what I actually heard was that you wanted to see me. I assumed that meant you wanted to talk, too."

Another beat of silence followed. Then Terry asked, "Why did you come?"

Joe gave a tiny shake of his head and wrinkled his brows. "I just said – I was told that you wanted to talk to me."

"But why would that make you come?" Terry peered at him through the glass, and Joe could see an earnest expression in his eyes.

"I thought it must be important." Joe licked his lips which suddenly felt very dry. Terry still had him fixed in that intense stare, and Joe found he couldn't bear it any longer. He had to lower his eyes. "Besides, there was something I wanted to tell you, and after – after what happened to you, I realized I might have a limited number of chances to get it said after all."

"You mean, after what I did." Terry paused for a moment. "Well, you don't have to worry about any repeat tries. I haven't been out of sight of at least one guard for a single second since it happened. It's disgusting."

"It's for your own good," Joe found himself saying.

Terry scoffed at that. "My own good. What would be good for me would be to get out of here, no matter what it takes."

Joe almost began to argue, but he gave up before he did. It wouldn't be any use trying to convince Terry. That he had been unbalanced had been obvious for years; maybe a professional could get through to him eventually, but Joe certainly couldn't in the few minutes he would be here. He decided it was best to go back to the original question. "So, I don't think you asked me here just so you could complain about the arrangements. There must be something you wanted to tell me or maybe ask me?"

At that question, Terry finally averted his gaze, and Joe could breathe a little easier. "There was, but I changed my mind. Go away."

Joe sighed. "You know, I did come a long way at your request. You might as well tell me what you wanted, even if it something as predictable as telling me you hate my guts or something, which I already know."

Terry lowered his eyes and his entire head until all Joe could see was his curly, red hair, which already had a few gray strands running through it. He had his face buried in his hands and was trembling. He had set the receiver that allowed him and Joe to talk down, and so Joe couldn't hear his sobs, but he could see easily that Terry was crying.

Bawling was more like it, Joe thought. There wasn't anything he could do until Terry decided to pick up the receiver again. Terry's tears didn't impress him. After all, Joe was the one who had been hurt by Terry, not the other way around. What did Terry have to cry about?

Anger was mounting up in Joe at the injustice and humiliation of this situation. Had Terry asked him here to try to make him feel sorry for helping put him in prison? This monster who had tried so hard to destroy Joe and his entire family and the Drews, who might as well be family, not to mention any of Joe's friends who had happened to get in the way, most notably Iola? He'd never feel sorry for that. The only thing he was sorry about was that he hadn't put him there sooner.

Joe rubbed one eye. This wasn't the reason he had come all this way. If he wanted to boil in his own fury over everything Terry had done, he could do that just as well at home. What he wanted was to get past that before – before he could ever turn into something like Terry.

Oh, he knew he could. That was how Terry had started out – angry about an injustice. True, he had been nursed on this anger and the hate that naturally accompanied it practically from infancy while Joe had not, but if anything, that only made Terry's position a little less horrible. What chance did he ever have of being anything better than what he was? If he had any shred of decency – Joe had certainly never witnessed one in him – that would have been practically a miracle. But even if Joe had been taught better than that his entire life, he still had it in him to be as vengeful as Terry was. He'd already seen it once. The night he had captured Terry, he would have beaten him to death with his bare hands if Ned Nickerson hadn't stopped him. He owed Ned a debt that he could never repay, unless it was by making sure Ned's efforts weren't in vain.

A voice inside Joe whispered that he couldn't have ever been as bad as Terry. Even if he had killed Terry – and Terry's murders and attempted murders were more than enough to make such a deed understandable, if not entirely justified – he wouldn't have gone after Terry's innocent family members or friends, as Terry had done. No, no, he was being much too hard on himself, even thinking of the possibility that he could have been anything like Terry, who was so utterly despicable and depraved.

If Joe had been in the mood, he could have laughed at that argument that some part of him was trying to make. He'd been in the detective business a long time, and he knew that no one was born a robber or a smuggler or, most especially, a murderer. Even Terry hadn't been born that way; he had just become that way. No doubt, there had been some now-distant time when Terry wouldn't have killed anyone, but somewhere along the line, building up small crimes until they became big ones or allowing small amounts of hatred to grow to massive ones, he had found he could and would kill and even found a perverse pleasure in it. No, Joe knew well enough that if Ned hadn't stopped him from beating Terry to death all those years ago, he would have begun to hesitate less about using more violence than he needed to against the criminals he pursued, until he would have killed again, and not in self-defense. It was still a path he was in danger of taking, albeit much more slowly, if he couldn't resolve his conflict with Terry, if he let himself hate Terry any longer.

Joe didn't know how long he had been lost in thought, but he was pulled out of it when he saw Terry pick up the receiver again.

"This is all your fault." Terry's voice still caught with sobs. "Yours, your father's, your brother's, Carson Drew's, Nancy Drew's. You all – Why? If Fenton Hardy and Carson Drew would have just let my dad alone, none of this would have happened."

Joe tightened his jaw. He wasn't going to argue. It wouldn't do any good. Terry was beyond reason. But – "Your father murdered several people. Dad and Carson had to stop him."

"He didn't have to kill him."

Joe closed his eyes, fury at the insinuation rising up in him. The case had taken place almost twenty-three years earlier, when Fenton had still been an officer on the NYPD. Carson Drew, just out of law school and interning with the DA in that city, had been asked to assist with the investigation of a murder. One murder soon grew into several, and the two men, along with Fenton's partner at the time, Mitchell Johnson, had discovered that the murderers were two brothers, Cliff and Dan Moriare. In the final showdown when they had captured Dan, Cliff, who was Terry's father, had gotten the drop on Fenton and Johnson. He had killed Johnson in cold blood right in front of Fenton, who had managed to escape. Determined not to let Cliff escape, Fenton had faced him one last time and been forced to kill him in self-defense. How Terry managed to twist that into a crime to be avenged, Joe didn't understand.

"Is that all?" Joe asked. "Is that all you wanted to tell me? Remind me one more time that it's everyone's fault but your own that you're in here? Because if it is, I really don't want to hear it again. So, I'll say my piece and be on my way."

Terry remained silent. That was fine. Joe could do this better without him talking.

"I know what you're trying to do," Joe said. "You're trying to make all this easier on yourself. You're trying to make yourself our victim so that you don't have to sit there for the next fifty or sixty years knowing that you're here because you were wrong. If you can just prove to yourself that my family and the Drews and I hate you and have persecuted you unfairly, then you can go on feeling justified in what you did to us. I'm not going to give you that satisfaction."

He paused for breath, and Terry merely glared at him. For a moment, the words froze on Joe's lips, something making him unwilling to say what he knew he had to.

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he continued, "Well, I don't hate you. I'm glad you didn't die. And I forgive you."

Terry continued to stare at him, but now his glare was replaced by such a dumbfounded expression that Joe might have laughed. He might have laughed about anything just now, though. It was such a relief to have his message delivered, unwilling as he had been to give it at first. It was done now, and he felt much lighter for it. After all, a grudge was a heavy burden to carry, and Joe had never realized how heavy until he had managed to shrug it off.

He didn't say another word, and Terry was too shocked and confused to say anything more. Joe stood up slowly and left the room. As the heavy door clanged shut behind him, it almost seemed like it was the sound of the last link of the chain that Terry had been holding him by all these years bursting apart.


	8. The Notebooks

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to BMSH, Candylou, max2013, Cherylann Rivers, and EvergreenDreamweaver for your reviews on chapter 7! They are very much so appreciated!_

 _So, I'm intentionally vague again in this chapter, but much less so than in previous ones. I think you can probably guess what's on Joe's mind now (especially since a couple of you have already guessed in the reviews). I realize that this is not a course that people usually envision for Joe and that it might be far from satisfying for you. I apologize for that, and if it causes you to lose interest in the story or makes you uncomfortable so that you don't want to continue reading, I understand and apologize for that as well. However, I don't think it's a bad thing to shake things up every once in a while and do something unexpected. If you agree, then read on!_

Chapter VIII

The Notebooks

"Thanks for giving me the ride back to Bayport," Joe said as he climbed into the passenger seat of a red four-door car.

"No problem," the driver, Deacon Mario Beretta, replied, putting the car into drive and starting down the street. "I was going that way anyway."

"Not for a couple more days," Joe reminded him. "I appreciate you leaving earlier to help me out."

Joe had met Mario a couple of years before on a case. He was a distant cousin of Tony's, and together with Mario's uncle, Father Giovanni Beretta, he had helped Joe out of some big trouble. Then, a few months ago, Joe had crossed paths with the Berettas again when they had asked him to track down Mario's brother, Angelo, who had gotten himself into deep trouble. Mario was in his final year of studies to be a priest and had only just been ordained a deacon a week earlier. Tony and Vanessa had asked him to their wedding on Saturday, and Joe, knowing that Mario would be in New York staying with his sister during the brief vacation he had before his assignment at a parish would begin, had asked him if there was any chance of catching a ride with him back to Bayport.

"Belle and Dominic aren't coming?" Joe asked, referring to Mario's sister and her husband.

Mario shrugged. "Tony and Vanessa invited them, but since Belle and Dom have never even met them, they decided not to."

"You sure you don't mind coming down early? It's a whole three days earlier than you planned to."

"I already told you it's fine," Mario assured him. He glanced in the rearview mirror and then over his shoulder as he got ready to switch lanes. "It works out just perfect, actually. I won't have to depend on that broken-down GPS to get me to Bayport this way. What are you doing in New York, anyhow?"

"Oh, just taking care of something," Joe replied vaguely. He didn't have any intention of telling anyone about his conversation with Terry if he could avoid it. If it got back to too many of his family or friends, they'd probably start to worry that he'd lost his mind entirely, especially after he finally told them about his plans.

As if he had read his mind, Mario asked, "So, any new developments?"

"I had my psych eval," Joe replied. "Got a clean bill of health there. At least, the PTSD isn't severe enough to cause me any more problems at all, as long as I take care of myself."

"That's good news. Have you heard anything else?"

"Not yet. They told me I should expect the letter sometime this week or next."

"What about your family? How are they taking this?"

Joe looked out the window. "I haven't told them yet," he admitted.

Mario nodded. "They'll probably want a little forewarning before you leave."

" _If_ I get accepted," Joe reminded him. "But yeah, you're right.

He looked out the window again. Talking to Terry had been hard enough, but that had cost nothing. This could cost him everything.

HBHBHBHBHB

By the time they reached Bayport, it was late in the afternoon. Biff had called earlier with an excited and not entirely coherent story about Kristy Lewis finding some notebooks in her barn and someone stopping at her house to ask her about the Mustang. It was on the way into Bayport, and after Joe had explained the case to Mario, he was intrigued enough by it to agree to stop by Kristy's house, where Biff had said the notebooks still were.

Kristy was expecting them, and she showed them the box of notebooks, explaining, "I looked through them a little earlier, when I first found them, but then I thought maybe I shouldn't. I didn't want to mess anything up." Her cheeks reddened. "Any more than I already did, you know, by posting about it on Instagram. I didn't think…"

"Don't worry about it," Joe told her. "It hasn't made a bit of difference so far, other than that I've gotten asked a few questions about it. That's all. And I doubt there's anything you can mess up here. Uh, Biff said there was someone asking about the Mustang, though?"

"Right," Kristy said. "Probably because of what I posted. You think?"

"Possibly. Who was it? What did he ask?"

"He was really young. Maybe only nineteen, twenty at the most. I was so flustered that I didn't think to ask his name, and he didn't give it."

"What kinds of questions did he ask?" Joe repeated.

"He asked if this used to be the Wilson farm," Kristy said. "I said it was. Then he asked if I'd mind if he looked around, and I said I would, and then he asked if there was an old Mustang in the barn. He even knew it was a '68. He seemed really disappointed when I told him I'd sold it."

"In that case, he probably didn't read what you posted. Otherwise, he'd have known that you'd sold it." Joe frowned and folded his arms. This was a strange twist.

"What did he look like?" Mario put in.

Kristy gave him a curious look, obviously not expecting a man in a clerical collar to ask detective-like questions. "He had dark hair, and I don't know. He was shorter than Joe, but taller than you. I don't know how to describe him."

"Never mind that, then," Joe said. "It's probably nothing. Do you mind if I take these notebooks with me?"

Kristy shook her head. "No, go ahead. You just have to promise to tell me what you find."

"I will." Joe picked up the box of notebooks and put it in the trunk of Mario's car.

When they had reached Joe's apartment and Joe had carried the box of notebooks inside, Mario asked him if there were any good hotels in Bayport.

"Yeah," Joe said, "but they're expensive. Even the bad ones are expensive. You helped me out that time I needed a place to stay; the least I can do is return the favor. You can have my bed, and I'll sleep on the couch."

"I wouldn't want to…" Mario began to protest, but Joe cut him off.

"I insist. My couch is comfortable enough. I'm going to be up most of the night, looking through those notebooks anyway."

"It's going to be five nights," Mario reminded him. "That's a long time to sleep on a couch."

"And that's going to be two hundred and fifty dollars even in one of those roach motels down by the waterfront," Joe pointed out. "I'm not taking no for an answer. Although I do have to warn you – my friends drop in at weird times sometimes. Like this morning."

Mario finally gave in, and while he went out to get his bag from his car, Joe grabbed some clean sheets and a clean towel and dropped them on the bed, intending to make the bed himself later. Then he went to the kitchen and looked in the fridge to see if he had anything that would do for supper. Apart from a few leftovers and some frozen food, there wasn't much.

"How does ordering a pizza sound? We've got a great pizza place…" Joe stopped himself, remembering something. "Oh, but you're from New York, and you're Italian."

"And I'm not picky," Mario replied. "Pizza sounds great. Order any kind you want, even one with pineapple."

Joe chuckled and dialed the number for Mr. Pizza. After he had ordered a large pepperoni, he sat down on the floor of his living room and began pulling the notebooks out of the box and looking through them. Mario, who was very much so interested in the case, joined him.

The pizza arrived soon, and a few minutes later, much to Joe's amusement, Chet Morton arrived as well.

"Did you follow the pizza delivery guy or something?" Joe asked when he answered the door.

"No. You have pizza?" Chet's face brightened hopefully and he stepped in. He halted in surprise when he saw Mario, whom he had never met before, and cast a confused glance at Joe.

"Oh," Joe replied. "Chet, this is Deacon Mario Beretta, Tony's cousin who helped me out that time with the whole Black Rose scare. This is a good friend of mine, Chet Morton."

Mario held out his hand to shake Chet's. "Nice to meet you."

"You too." Chet shook his hand. "So, where's this pizza?"

The others willingly shared the pizza with him, although it didn't leave much for them, and then explained what they were doing with the notebooks. Chet, who had merely dropped by to see what Joe was up to, joined in reading the notebooks.

They soon realized that Jeremy Wilson had evidently used the notebooks more as a series of journals than for keeping notes on cases. Chet and Mario didn't feel right reading his personal journals, and so they merely skimmed through them, looking for anything that might be relevant to the case. Joe's conscience, however, wasn't so stringent on matters like this, and so he felt no qualms about reading them more closely.

Chet tired of the task and after a while, stood up to leave. Just as he was headed for the door, he smacked his forehead with his palm. "I almost forgot to tell you, Joe. I don't know if it's important or not, but when I got home from work, my dad told me that a police officer was at the house earlier."

"What did he want?" Joe asked.

"He said he wanted to find you and thought maybe you were at the house, working on the car with Biff."

"Did your dad say who it was?"

"No. He doesn't know very many of the cops in town, and he didn't remember the name. He thought it started with an O."

"Probably just Olaf, then," Joe said. "He called me earlier today. It's funny, though. I wonder why he would have tried to find me in person instead of just calling from the get-go. I'll ask him next time I see him. See ya later, Chet."

After Chet had left, Mario decided to go to bed. Joe, however, was far too interested in Jeremy Wilson's notebooks to go to sleep yet, even if his day had started at a quarter after four in the morning and had involved a trying interview and driving to and from New York City. For the most part, the notebooks were a series of ramblings about the day-to-day happenings of Jeremy's life. The one Joe was reading out of was from 1967, too early to even be mention the bank robbery, which had happened in January 1968. However, Jeremy did write about the other cases he had worked on, and to Joe, it felt a little like revisiting the simpler, smaller-stakes cases that he and Frank, sometimes with Nancy Drew, had solved as teenagers.

Finally, he put that one down and reached for a later one, which would be more likely to have some bearing on the case. On January 13, 1968, the day after the robbery, Jeremy had written down all the details he knew about it. It was nothing that Joe didn't already know, but it did show that Jeremy had taken an interest in the case from the very beginning and any entry after that could hold some clues. Joe would have to read them carefully.

He learned that Jeremy had spotted a man answering the description of the bank robber and driving a car that matched the one the robber had driven. He had followed the man and taken down his license number but had lost him at a red light. Joe chuckled, thinking about how often that had happened to him. He read further that although Jeremy had given the number to the police, neither he nor they had spotted it again.

After that, Jeremy didn't seem to make much progress on the case until late in March. That was when he had spotted a car that was the exact same make, model, and color as the bank robber's car. On the unlikely chance that the car might be the same one, he had taken pictures of it, as well as a fingerprint that he had spotted on the window, which he thought could possibly be used for evidence even though he seemed to be unaware that the police had one of the bank robber's prints on file. Jeremy had gone to the police about it anyway, but the officer he had spoken to had told him that it was such a long shot not to even both bringing in the pictures. Joe had to raise an eyebrow at that, but Jeremy seemed not to think anything of it.

Joe read a little further, but by this time it was after one in the morning and he had been awake for twenty hours straight. Without him realizing it, his eyelids began to droop, and before much longer, he had fallen asleep.


	9. The Choice

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you for sticking with this story! In particular, thank you to Candylou, max2013, EvergreenDreamweaver, Cherylann Rivers, BMSH, Guest, and Different Guest for your reviews! While I do appreciate all of you taking the time to review, whether positive or negative, I do ask two favors of you: first, that your reviews are kept on topic about the story itself, and second and more importantly, that you be respectful to mine and others' religions. I realize that touching on religious matters in writing can be difficult both for reader and writer, so the best way to handle the situation is for all of us to be respectful toward one another. And of course, once again, if you prefer not to continue reading this story, you won't offend me. Thank you._

Chapter IX

The Choice

 _Joe wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. It was so hot and humid. He looked around him in bewilderment. He was in the middle of a battlefield; he could see that. The fighting had moved off, somewhere beyond a hill to his right where he could still hear the shots and explosions of battle. There were dead and dying men lying on the ground all around him with a few medical corpsmen hurrying about to help them. Joe had been to this part of the world before, but even if he hadn't, he would have somehow known that this was Vietnam. Why was he here? How had he gotten here? How could the war still be going on?_

 _As he was still looking around him in a daze, trying to puzzle these questions out, something grabbed his leg. He jumped, but a moment later, he saw that one of the wounded soldiers was lying practically at his feet and had reached out for him._

 _"Help… help me," the man gasped. The boy, really, Joe saw as he knelt down next to him. Then Joe started as he recognized him._

 _"Jerry Wilson?" he asked._

 _The boy nodded, moving his head as little as he possibly could. "Help me, Father." Joe could barely hear the words._

 _"Father?" he repeated. "I'm not a…" He stopped himself, suddenly realizing that he was dressed in black with a clerical collar. This was only getting stranger._

 _"Yet," Jeremy whispered. His grip on Joe's ankle loosened, and he drew a shaky, ragged, painful-sounding breath._

 _"Wait," Joe said. "What's going on? I don't understand."_

 _"Water," Jeremy gasped instead of answering the question._

 _Joe found he had a canteen hanging at his side. He uncorked it and then helped Jeremy to sit up. The boy drank deeply. When he handed the canteen back to Joe, the water seemed to have revived him enough that he could continue to sit up._

 _"Thank you," he said, and his voice was stronger, too._

 _Screwing the cap back on the canteen, Joe looked around him again at the unfamiliar trees, the green grass stained with mud and blood, and most of all the bodies lying about him. "I still don't understand."_

 _Jeremy looked around as well, struggling to keep back tears. "I didn't either." He looked back at Joe, and intensity behind the sorrow in his gaze. "I wasn't doing anything wrong. It was what I had to do. It was hard. Why did they have to make it harder?"_

 _"Who?" Although Jeremy's words had been cryptic, Joe thought he knew what he meant before he explained._

 _"My family," Jeremy said. "They didn't think we should have been in Vietnam. They didn't understand when I enlisted. They didn't even come to see me off."_

 _"You said in your notebook that they didn't agree with the war." Joe could feel that he was dangerously close to tears himself. "Will my family… I mean, I don't think they'll understand either. Not at first. Will they ever understand?"_

 _"Mine realized in time that I didn't die for nothing," Jeremy told him. "I think yours will realize that you're not going to live for nothing."_

 _Joe heaved another sigh of relief. That was another burden lifted from his shoulders. "As long as they understand someday… I don't want to lose them. They're too important."_

 _"It won't be easy," Jeremy warned him. "And there is a risk. It might be a long time before they come to understand why you're doing this. It still might change everything between you."_

 _That relief was short-lived. Joe tried to swallow the lump in his throat. "I guess I'll just have to take that risk and just trust them and trust God. I really want to do this, and I think it's what I'm supposed to do. I can't help being afraid, though."_

 _A faint smile crossed Jeremy's face. "No. No one can help that. There's a lot of good you can do. Don't let fear keep you from doing it."_

 _To Joe's astonishment, Jeremy started to get up, despite the fact that a few minutes earlier he had been seriously wounded. It was on the tip of Joe's tongue to ask where he was going, but instead he asked, "What about the case? Your case. Why didn't you solve it?"_

 _Jeremy's face tightened with pain. "I could have, and if I would have, I would have saved a lot of people a lot of pain. Don't make the same mistake I did, Joe."_

 _"What mistake was that?"_

 _"The notebook…" An explosion drowned out the rest of the sentence._

HBHBHBHBHB

Joe jumped awake, startled by the explosion. His heart was pounding furiously. For a moment, he was confused about where he was and what was going on. Then reality settled in around him. He was right where he had fallen asleep, in the middle of his living room with Jeremy Wilson's notebooks surrounding him and according to his watch, it was almost four o'clock in the morning.

He sank back on the couch. There hadn't been any explosion. The whole thing had just been a dream, but what a strange dream. Or maybe not. It wasn't as if anything had happened in it that hadn't been heavily on his mind lately. Jeremy Wilson, the case, and Joe's decision to become a priest. It wasn't any wonder that his brain would take all of it and mix it together into a dream.

Whatever the reason behind it, it did bring that decision back to the forefront of his mind. The decision was already made. Or, at any rate, the decision to go to the seminary was. He'd been thinking about it for over a year now, the idea half terrifying him and completely exciting him. He had gone through all the steps to apply to the seminary, which had been rigorous and time-consuming, as any man expressing an interest in the priesthood was thoroughly scrutinized for any sign of any intentions other than to serve God and the people of the parish where he would eventually be assigned. He was still waiting to be find out whether he had been accepted or not, and even if he was, it would be eight years of training during which time he was free to change his mind, not to mention having the possibility of the vocations directors for the diocese deciding he was unsuited to be a priest.

He wasn't going to change his mind, though; he already knew that. He really, really wanted to do this. True, it would mean giving up detective work, which for a long time had been the only thing he had ever imagined himself being happy or fulfilled doing. Yet, in a way, this was the logical end to his detective work; at least, it was for the reasons why he had loved solving mysteries. He loved helping people in hard and desperate times – and he had to admit that he had never liked charging money for doing so as he had to do as a professional private investigator – but more than that, he loved searching for the truth. Then in the RCIA classes he had had to take to join the Catholic Church and then talking to and watching the example of people like Mario and the people in his parish, he had become more and more convinced that this is what he wanted and needed to do.

The biggest obstacle he had yet to overcome was how to tell his family and his friends about it. None of the rest of his family was Catholic, and very few of his friends were. Most of them weren't particularly religious at all, and this would be hard to accept and understand.

It would be especially hard for his family. For years, his dad had counted on both his sons working with him and following his footsteps. Then the whole thing with Frank and Callie had happened, and Frank had decided to go the forensics route instead of regular detective work. Joe's dad had been disappointed enough then, but Joe knew that a big part of what had helped him through it was thinking he could count on Joe to continue with the family business. How would he take the news when he found out that wouldn't happen?

Then there was his mom. What she had always wanted for both her sons was for them to find good, strong women to marry and raise families with. She was thrilled that Frank had managed to do that, especially now that she was about to be a grandma. When Joe and Iola had broken up, she had been heartbroken for her younger son. Could she accept that marriage and a family wasn't in Joe's future at all?

It was hard to say whether it would be even harder for Frank than for his parents or not. Frank and Joe had always been as close as two brothers could be. They had practically been inseparable in their teenage years, although life had forced them to grow apart in a lot of ways already. There had been college, and then Frank had gotten married and moved to Rome for a year, and now Frank was going back to college. But all of those were temporary things, and through each and every one of them, Frank had always intended to come back to Bayport in the end. Even now that he wasn't going to be working with his dad and brother any longer, he would still be in town and still expected to see them practically every day. But now, Joe would almost certainly never come back to live in Bayport, except maybe when he was old and retired from active parish duties. It was highly unusual for a priest to be assigned to a parish where he had grown up. Most likely, he would be moved around to other cities every few years, not terribly far from home, but still far enough and busy enough that his visits would be infrequent. It would definitely be hard for Frank, and for Joe, too.

Finally, Callie. She was having a rough time, finding that being Mrs. Frank Hardy was anything but peaceful. Joe couldn't blame her. She had been around long enough to see the danger Frank's dad's work had put his sons in even before they had begun solving cases in earnest themselves. For that matter, Frank's detective work had already put Callie in more danger than most people experienced in a lifetime. It was only natural that she would want a safer life for herself, her husband, and her children. She was in a hard place, and a severe blow to Frank's morale wouldn't help her at all. If it caused her and Frank to have any more problems, she would probably blame Joe. Joe would certainly blame himself, at least partially.

He stood up and stretched. After spending this much time thinking and worrying about this, he wasn't going to get any more sleep tonight. Maybe he would go take a short drive and try to think about the case instead.

He was just trying to avoid the unavoidable, he told himself as he got his car keys and wrote a note for Mario on the chance his guest would wake up before he got back. He was going to have to tell them, one way or another. He had spent a lot of time debating whether it would be better to tell them one at a time or all at once, but he never had been able to decide. Maybe he should decide that on his drive instead.

Whatever would be the best use of his time to think about, he soon got distracted when his car's engine wouldn't start. He turned the key again, but it was totally dead. Annoyed, he popped the hood and got out to see what the problem was. He shone a flashlight onto the engine, and it only took a moment for him to spot something unusual.

An explosive had been wired into the starter circuit.


	10. Investigation

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! I would like to thank BMSH, max2013, Candylou, and Cherylann Rivers for your very kind reviews on the last chapter! I really appreciate it!_

Chapter X

Investigation

After the first moment of alarm at seeing the explosive, Joe relaxed and muttered, "Amateur." Clearly, whoever had planted the explosive had tried to wire it into the starter, but in doing so, had inadvertently disconnected the starter wires. At least, it might have been inadvertent or perhaps it had been meant as a warning rather than an actual attempt on his life. While he called the police to report the incident and have the bomb squad come, he wondered which it was and why anyone would have bothered. The only case he was actively working on was one that was fifty years old. Even if the perpetrator was still alive, the statute of limitations had long since run out and no action could be taken against the person. Of course, they wouldn't want their reputation sullied, but resorting to murder would only increase the chances of their crimes being found out. There was definitely something more going on here than Joe had thought at first.

The next morning, Joe headed for his dad's office first thing to ask him about the incident. It was early enough that Frank and Sam Radley hadn't gotten in yet, and Fenton was surprised to see Joe there.

"So much for a week off," he teased him. "Have you had enough relaxation?"

"Hardly any," Joe replied. "I take it you haven't heard about the excitement at my place last night."

Fenton instantly became more serious. "What happened?"

Joe explained, and Fenton frowned. It wasn't the first time someone had tried to kill one of his sons in an investigation, and it had turned out much better than most of the other times, but it still angered him whenever something like this happened.  
"Did you or the police turn up any clues as to who it was who planted it?" Fenton asked.

"No. Whoever it was didn't know the first thing about planting a bomb, but they did know how to break into a car without damaging it and to wear gloves." Joe raked a hand back through his hair. "What I can't figure out is why. I guess there's always the old revenge plot, but otherwise, the only case I'm working on is that cold case."

"We'd better look into both those possibilities," Fenton said. "I'll find out whether anyone you put in jail has gotten out recently, especially someone who has experience with car thefts or burglaries but not explosives. You keep focusing on that cold case. You never know; there could be something there. Do you have any leads to follow up on?"

"An old license number to check. Then there was the guy who was asking Kristy about her Mustang. I'll see if I can't get her to give a better description of him."

Fenton nodded in approval. "Good. Until we learn who was behind this, I think it would be a good idea if you didn't do your investigating alone. All your friends must be at work. We're not too busy here. Maybe Sam could…"

"It's okay, Dad," Joe told him. "Mario Beretta is already here for the wedding, and I'm sure he'd be willing to follow me around if it's really necessary. And then everyone else from out of town is coming later today or tomorrow. There'll be plenty of people to have around."

"Okay," Fenton agreed. "I'll call you with whatever I come up with. And until further notice, send me a text every hour so I know nothing's happened."

Joe nodded. "All right. I'll let you know what I find, too."

His first stop was back at his apartment to pick up Mario, or rather to have Mario drive him down to police headquarters. The Hardys' office was only a few blocks from his apartment and since he wanted to have his car thoroughly looked over before he drove it anywhere, he had walked to the office. Mario was, naturally, concerned about the recent turn of events, but he was willing to go with Joe.

When they arrived, Joe asked to talk to Lieutenant Con Riley, one of the Hardys' oldest friends on the Bayport police force. Riley welcomed the young men into his office at once.

"I heard about what happened last night," Riley said. "You were lucky, Joe. If whoever had tried to wire up that car bomb hadn't been so inept, the Bayport PD would be missing one of our best allies."

"Did you hear anything else about it?" Joe asked. "Have they figured out anything yet?"

"Olaf would be the one to ask about that," Riley replied. "Well, what do you need from me?"

"A favor," Joe said. "A sort of unusual favor."

"What other kind do you ask for?"

Joe chuckled. "I was wondering if you could look up who a license number was issued to fifty years ago."

Riley rubbed his chin. "That would have been the late '60s, right? That won't be too bad. Everything was in computers by then, and as we've updated the computer systems, the data should have all been moved over. What's the number?" Joe gave him the number on the plate of the car in the photograph, and Riley jotted it down. "Just wait here a minute, and I'll see what I can do."

"The year I'm interested in is 1968," Joe told him.

"Got it."

As Riley left to go check out the information, Mario commented with a grin, "It must make detective work easy to have an in with the police."

"It's always been one of Dad's policies to stay on good terms with the police," Joe replied. "It hasn't always been easy, but since we're all on the same side, we all figure it's for the best to get along."

It was close to half an hour later that Con Riley returned with the information Joe had asked for. In 1968, the license number in question had been issued to a Mrs. Tina Morley.

Joe frowned. "That's no good. The bank robber was a man."

"Maybe Mr. Morley was the robber, "Mario suggested, "or maybe it was this woman's son or brother or something."

"True," Joe agreed, "although it opens up a lot of possibilities that might not even be possible to run down. I mean, the car could have even been loaned to a friend or something. I guess the next step would be to find out is to see if Mrs. Morley is still alive and, if she is, try to contact her." He sighed. "It would be a lot easier if someone in this case was named Papowalski or something like that. There are probably as many Morleys running around as there were Wilsons."

"So, how do go about tracking down the right one?" Mario asked.

Joe considered the problem for a moment or two. Then he asked Riley, "Did you get the address for Tina Morley?"

"Right here." The officer handed him a slip of paper with the information written down.

"Well, I guess it's back to City Hall to check this name and address out," Joe said. "They're going to get tired of me around there."

The trip to City Hall yielded the information that the Tina Morley of the address that Con Riley had found was married to a Robert Morley. Further research revealed that Robert and Tina had been married in 1961, with Tina having been born in 1940 and Robert in 1939, making them twenty-eight and twenty-nine, respectively, at the time of the bank robbery.

"Looks like we can rule out the possibility that the bank robber was their son," Mario observed.

"Robert's a plausible suspect, though," Joe added. "They sold their property in 1970, though, and figuring out where they went is going to be tough."

Mario was thoughtful for a minute. "In a small town like this, there's got to be a lot of people who have lived here in the same house for that long. Maybe one of their old neighbors still lives here and would remember them."

"That's possible." Joe checked his phone for the time. "Let's run up to Kristy Lewis's before we check it out, though. I want to see if she can remember anything more about the guy who came her house."

HBHBHBHBHB

The cursor on the computer screen blinked back at Frank as he stared at it. He was supposed to be working on the books for the agency, but right now, his mind was on anything but accounting. His dad had told him what had happened – or rather, almost happened – to Joe. Frank didn't like it. Joe was in danger again, and Frank was bound by a promise not to interfere. He should be the one with his brother right now, not this Mario Beretta, whom he had never even met. It was almost enough to make him wish – he wasn't sure what. Joe was a detective through and through, and there would never be any changing that. Besides that, he was a natural magnet for trouble. Even on the rare occasion he wasn't working on a mystery, he always managed to get himself into some kind of trouble or other.

There couldn't be any danger in going to the police to ask them about their investigation of the incident. That wouldn't even be investigating on Frank's part. Any citizen in his place right now might do the same thing.

His mind made up on that, he glanced at his watch. It was much later in the afternoon than he thought. He wasn't likely to get any more work done today anyway, so he went to the door of his dad's office and knocked.

As soon as Fenton invited him in, Frank asked, "Any luck?"

Fenton shook his head. "There are a few people you and Joe helped in capturing who have gotten out of jail in the last six months, but none of their MOs match or they've gone to a different part of the country entirely and none of them seem particularly vengeful anyway."

"Would it be all right if I left early today, Dad? I want to stop by headquarters and ask the police what they've got."

"Go ahead," Fenton told him. "If you learn anything, let me know."

Frank hurried down to police headquarters and asked to see Captain Olaf. As it happened, the officer was just coming from the holding cells, looking quite pleased with himself.

"Oh, Frank," he said when he saw him, "I was just going to call your brother. We got him."

The news took Frank by surprise. "What? How did you get him so fast?"

"Simple, really," Olaf replied, understandably proud. After all, it wasn't every day that he cracked a case before the Hardys. "His name's Colby Justeson. He's been in here before for using homemade explosives to bring down an abandoned building down by the waterfront a couple years ago. The bomb we took out of Joe's car had Colby's name written all over it. If that's not enough, Joe said there was a suspicious person asking questions relating to his case who was described as being male, nineteen or twenty, dark hair, and between five-nine and six-foot. The description fits Colby like a glove."

"And a lot of other people," Frank couldn't resist saying, although the two clues together did add up as Olaf said. "Why would have he done it, though? Joe's never had anything to do with him."

"The kid's got a real grudge against cops," Olaf said, "plus, given his past record, he could be a bit of a pyromaniac. There's only been the one case that we could definitely pin on him, but there have been a few others that he was a definite person of interest."

"But Joe's not a cop," Frank pointed out.

"Close enough." Olaf shrugged. "The kid hates cops so much, I'm sure he'd also include anyone who works with us."

"Joe thought it was an amateur who had wired up the bomb," Frank said, thoughtfully.

Olaf frowned slightly. "That's true. That part doesn't add up. He could have been in a hurry, though."

"What does Colby say about it?" Frank asked.

"He says he didn't do it, of course," Olaf replied. "You want to talk to him? Maybe he's got something against you Hardys that you don't know about, and seeing you might cause him to give it away."

"It's worth a try," Frank conceded.

He followed Olaf back to the holding cells. The officer showed him to a cell containing a young man of nineteen who was sitting dejectedly on a cot. He glared at Olaf, but if he recognized Frank, he gave no sign of it.

"You scum!" Colby shouted, jumping up, before either Olaf or Frank had a chance to say a word, following it up with a chain of curses until he had to stop to catch his breath.

"You see what I mean?" Olaf asked Frank.

Rather than replying, Frank stepped a little closer again to the cell. "Hi," he said. "My name's Frank Hardy. You're Colby Justeson?"

Colby froze and paled just a little. "I didn't try to kill your brother."

"Now, Colby," Olaf broke in, "you were saying not fifteen minutes ago that you didn't know the Hardys. How do you know that Frank is Joe's brother?"

The question didn't faze Colby. "Everyone knows that Frank and Joe Hardy are brothers. They've only been in the paper about a million times."

"Did you know," Frank said, "that the way different people make bombs is very distinctive. The police say that the bomb they found in my brother's car looks like your work. How did it get there if you didn't put it there?"

"I don't know," Colby muttered, and then added, "I didn't make that bomb. The cops are wrong. As usual. Stupid fuzz."

"You do make bombs, don't you?" Frank continued.

"I used to," Colby admitted. "I was a dumb kid back then, okay? But I'm done with all that now." He looked past Frank, down the hall, and winced. Then his eyes moved back to focus on Frank and Olaf again and he said in a flare of passion with several other colorful words thrown in, "I didn't make that bomb!"

Frank glanced over his shoulder to see what Colby had been distracted by for a moment. Captain O'Rourke was walking down the hallway. On a sudden hunch, Frank asked, "Did someone have you make that bomb for them?"

Some emotion that Frank couldn't quite identify flickered in Colby's eyes, but his voice was firm when he said, "No." Then he turned and sat down again on the cot with his back to his questioners, refusing to say another word.


	11. Suspicion

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to EvergreenDreamweaver, Candylou, BMSH, max2013, and Cherylann Rivers for your reviews on the last chapter!_

Chapter XI

Suspicion

"What can you tell me about O'Rourke?" Frank asked. He was sitting in Olaf's office while they waited for Joe, Mario, and Kristy Lewis to arrive. Olaf, of course, had requested that Kristy come to the station to see whether Colby Justeson was really the young man who had been asking at her house about the Mustang. By chance, Joe and Mario had been at her place, asking her more questions about the fellow when he called, and so they were coming with her. In the meantime, Frank had decided to wait around, curious to see whether Olaf's suspicions were well-founded or not.

Olaf rolled his eyes and scoffed at the mention of his colleague. "O'Rourke. I could tell you more than you ever wanted to hear about him."

"Oh?" Frank was aware that there was contention between O'Rourke and Olaf, and of the two, O'Rourke had the better reputation for good police work. It was likely that anything that Olaf said about O'Rourke would be fueled mainly by rivalry, but there were two strange occurrences with O'Rourke now – his questions about Joe's case and Colby Justeson's reaction to seeing him in the hallway – and Frank wanted to find out anything he could about the officer.

However, Olaf wasn't as readily cooperative as his initial reaction to Frank's question would indicate. "Why do ask?" The look he gave Frank made it clear that it wasn't a merely casual question.

Frank shrugged, unsure whether to be straightforward about his vague suspicions or not. "Mostly just curious, I guess." He decided to go with being cagey.

The answer did seem to be satisfactory for Olaf. He grunted in annoyance as he settled himself farther into his chair. Then a sudden thought appeared to occur to him. "Did you notice how nervous that Justeson kid got when he saw O'Rourke hanging around? This could be…" He stopped himself, apparently thinking better of what he was going to say.

Frank was trying to decide how to continue asking questions when Joe arrived with Mario and Kristy. It was the first time Frank had met either of them, and he shook hands cordially with each of them.

"Now, Ms. Lewis," Olaf said, "I was told that there was a young man at your home yesterday asking about the car you sold to Biff Hooper, which is connected to the cold case that Joe Hardy is currently investigating. Is that correct?"

"Yes," Kristy affirmed.

"Would you be able to recognize this man if you saw him again?" Olaf continued.

"I think so," Kristy replied, "but I don't have the best memory for faces, you see."

The Hardys and Olaf all tried to restrain a collective groan. If when Kristy took a look at Colby Justeson, she couldn't say for sure whether he was the one or not, they'd be no farther along than they were already.

"All right." Olaf professionally brushed aside his disappointment. "We have a suspect in custody, and I would like you to identify him, if you can."

"I'll try," Kristy promised.

Olaf led her to the holding cell, allowing Frank, Joe, and Mario to trail along behind. Colby was still sitting with his back to the hallway.

"Justeson," Olaf told him, "stand up a minute. I've got someone who wants to take a look at you."

"What is this, a zoo?" Colby grumbled without moving. "Some kind of freak show, like 'come and take a look at the juvenile delinquent'? 'Cause that's all I am to you pigs."

"Clever, Justeson," Olaf replied. "I've got a witness here. If you're as innocent as you say, you've got nothing to lose by cooperating."

Colby begrudgingly stood up and turned around. Everyone watched Kristy's expression as she raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"That's not him," she announced.

"Are you sure?" Olaf asked.

"Positive," Kristy replied. "He doesn't look anything like him."

"Finally, somebody around here who tells the truth," Colby said. "Now you'll have to let me go, right, Mr. Fuzz?"

"Not just yet," Olaf told him. He gestured for everyone else to follow him and went back to his office. "Thank you for coming down here, Ms. Lewis. You've been most helpful."

"Sorry I couldn't be more helpful," Kristy said. "If there's anything else I can do, just let me know."

The Hardys and Mario left the station with her. Kristy had brought her own car, and she took off. The others remained in front of the police headquarters for a minute longer.

Frank glanced at his watch. "Phil and Lisa and the kids should be getting into town any time now. Callie and I are going to have dinner with them. You guys are welcome to come if you want."

"Sure," Joe replied. "That is, if you want to, Mario."

"It's fine with me," Mario agreed, "if you're sure I'm not intruding."

"Not at all," Frank assured him. "Why don't you come over right away? That is, unless you've got something else to do on the case."

"We had one idea," Joe said. "We tracked down some names of some people who might have been involved in the robbery, but they moved away shortly afterwards. We were going to see if they have any old neighbors who might still be around and might possibly remember them. It's a long shot, but I'm out of other ideas. Anyway, that can wait until tomorrow, and maybe by then I'll think of something better."

HBHBHBHBHB

Callie had prepared a simple but delicious meal, and her and Frank's dining room was, of course, lovely. Phil Cohen, who was Frank's closest friend from high school, and his wife, Lisa, along with their two small children, were excited to see Frank and Callie again, since the last time they had was at Frank and Callie's wedding. Dinner was laid-back and relaxing, and afterwards, they all gathered in the living room to talk. Although the conversation started out with merely catching up with each other and a good many polite questions addressed to Mario, it wasn't long before it turned to the subject of detective work. Phil was very interested in Joe's case and more than a little curious about Frank's lack of involvement in it.

Even though they hadn't had a chance to see each other in person in a year and a half, Frank and Phil had kept in touch, and so Phil was aware of Frank's decision to abandon private investigation to study forensics. However, he hadn't realized how serious Frank was about it.

Callie was quiet through this part of the conversation. For over half a year, the question of whether Frank would continue as a detective or not had been hanging over her, coming up almost every day. She was so tired of it, although she knew that it was her own fault. If only she wouldn't have ever brought it up!

"It sounds like a tough problem," Phil observed when Joe had finished giving all the details of the case once again.

"I don't see what difference it makes whether you solve it or not," Lisa commented. "Whoever took the money must have spent it by now, and if the robber is even still alive, there's nothing you can do to him except let everyone know he robbed a bank once."

"True," Joe admitted. It was a little tough to explain why the case intrigued him so much.

"But then there's the car bomb," Frank pointed out. "We can't – Joe can't just let the person who planted it get away with something like that."

"Are you sure the kid that the police caught isn't the one who set the bomb?" asked Callie, who wished that the dangerous part of the case, at least, could be solved so easily, though she knew it wouldn't be.

"Well, of course, we can't be certain," Joe said. "He could have been lying about setting the bomb, and just because he wasn't the one asking Kristy questions doesn't mean he's not involved. It's just that the evidence against him is pretty scarce, and he doesn't have a motive. I've never even met him before."

Frank, who was sitting next to his wife, took hold of her hand. "Don't worry, honey. It'll be fine." He cast a glance at Joe, who immediately understood that his brother wanted to change the subject.

For a moment, Joe scrambled to find something to talk about that would sound natural and not forced. "Yeah, I mean, we've got a pretty great police force here in Bayport, so they're bound to get it cleared up. Of course, after Chief Collig retires, they're going to have a tough time finding anyone to replace him."

"Chief Collig is retiring?" Phil asked, taking the bait as Joe had hoped he would.

"Yeah," Joe replied. "At the end of the year. The paper said he's been with the Bayport PD for forty-one years. Crazy, huh? I mean, he'd already been a cop forever when I was born."

"Huh. That's hard to picture anyone else being chief," Phil said. "I mean, Collig's been chief as long as I can remember."

"We should have a retirement party for him," Joe went on. "Sure, the police department will anyway, but we should have one, too."

"Speaking of parties," Frank said, grateful to Joe for changing the subject so smoothly, "what about your party you had planned for tomorrow night? Is it still on?"

For a moment, all Joe did was stare at him in confusion. Then he remembered the plans he had laid out the other day. Truth be told, he hadn't given it another thought since he had talked about it with Frank. "Oh, right. Yeah, it's still on. I, uh, haven't found anyone with a volleyball net yet, though."

"My parents still have one, I think," Phil volunteered. "I can ask if we can use it."

Gradually, the conversation died down. Phil and Lisa had to go before it got too late, since their children needed to get to sleep. With the other guests gone, Mario was feeling out of place and hoped Joe would want to leave soon, as well. However, Callie, who was always a gracious hostess, began to talk to him about New York, since that was one of her favorite cities. Meanwhile, Frank signaled to Joe that he wanted to talk to him alone, and so the two of them excused themselves on the pretext that they were going to clean up the kitchen in order to save Callie the trouble.

As soon as the door was closed behind them, Frank turned to Joe. "I didn't want to say anything in front of anyone else because I could be wrong, but I really do think there's something going on with O'Rourke."

"Okay," Joe said. He had already said what he thought of any possibility of O'Rourke's involvement in the case, but he knew that Frank didn't get caught up on things like this without a reason. He was willing to hear him out on it. "Did he do anything more?"

"Well, it wasn't much," Frank admitted, "but the first time I talked to Colby Justeson, O'Rourke walked past. When Colby caught sight of him, I felt like he lost his train of thought for a minute."

"That doesn't necessarily mean anything," Joe pointed out.

"I know." Frank folded his arms. "I just think it would be worthwhile to look into O'Rourke a little more. We've both been in this business long enough to know that you can never be too careful about who you can trust."

"And also that where there's smoke, there isn't always fire. The kid's a cop-hater with a record. He could have had some run-in with O'Rourke where O'Rourke was completely on the level, but seeing him shook him anyway. There are probably quite a few people who'd have the same reaction to seeing one of us."

"Maybe." Frank wasn't convinced.

"You could be right," Joe relented. "I'll see what I can learn about him, although if he is up to something, he's not going to have a record."

"That's true," Frank agreed. "I think Olaf knows something about him, besides just their usual rivalry. You might want to start with him." He paused, biting his lip.

"What else is eating you?" Joe asked.

Frank swallowed. "Somebody tried to kill you. I should be helping track them down. If anything happens to you…"

"Nothing's going to happen," Joe cut him off. "The whole thing was probably meant as a warning, anyway. Even if it wasn't, I told Dad I'd have people around me all the time. What could happen to me?"

Frank sighed and shook his head. "You're seriously asking that? Anyway, it doesn't matter. I should be there when you need me. We've always been a team. It's not right, the way things have gone."

It was Joe's turn to sigh now. "It's different now. There's no denying that. But I don't think it's wrong. I think – Well, in a way, the way things have gone is sort of making it easier…" He stopped himself. Maybe right now wasn't the best time.

"What is it, Joe? Something's been on your mind a lot lately. What is it?"

"It's kind of hard to explain," Joe replied softly, "but I guess maybe it's about time I did. How about, since you feel like you should take a turn keeping an eye on me, how about we meet up for breakfast tomorrow and talk about it?"

"Just the two of us, or Callie, too?" Frank asked.

Joe tried to keep his expression neutral, but he wasn't sure that he succeeded. "Whichever way you guys want it."


	12. Revelation

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you for continuing to read this story! Thank you so much to everyone who left reviews on the last chapter: max2013, Candylou, EvergreenDreamweaver, Cherylann Rivers, and BMSH! I always enjoy hearing what you think!_

Chapter XII

Revelation

Joe tapped his foot underneath the table while he waited. He knew he was being overdramatic, but he felt that his life as he knew it was about to end. He really had no idea how Frank was going to react, although he had heard enough stories of people telling even their Catholic families something like this and it going poorly to feel justified in his fears. What was more, he didn't know whether Frank was coming alone or if Callie was coming with him, and even that amount of uncertainty was making him feel unprepared.

Frank had said he would be here at eight-thirty, and it was five minutes past that now. It wasn't like Frank to be late, especially when he knew it was important. Still, Joe was a little relieved that he hadn't kept Frank waiting, since he himself had only arrived just on time. He and Mario had gone to Mass at seven-thirty that morning, and then Mario had gone to spend the morning with Tony and Vanessa and their respective families, helping with any last-minute wedding preparations. Joe had stayed at the church a few minutes longer to say a prayer that this conversation would go well, and he hadn't realized that he was nearly running late.

Then Frank walked in. He smiled and gave Joe a cheerful "good morning" as he sat in the chair opposite Joe. Joe thought he returned the greeting, but he couldn't be sure because as soon as he saw Frank and he knew the moment was here, he felt as if all his courage deserted him and he couldn't breathe. It wasn't often that Joe felt this way, and that fact only made him feel more disconcerted.

His brother's obvious distress puzzled Frank. He had suspected for some time that something was going on with Joe, but he had no idea what Joe could possibly have to tell him that would have him so uncharacteristically nervous.

A waitress came up to their table before they could exchange any more words. "Good morning," she greeted them with a pleasant smile as she handed them menus. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Morning," Frank returned the greeting. "I'll have a medium regular coffee, please."

They both looked at Joe, who had picked the menu up and was looking at it to distract himself. He had completely missed what the waitress had asked, but since she had evidently been talking to him, he hoped for the best and just said, "Uh, yes."

Frank furrowed one eyebrow almost imperceptibly, but all he said was to tell the waitress, "Make that two medium regular coffees."

The waitress wrote down the order and left to fill it.

"What's the matter?" Frank asked when she was out of earshot. "Did something else happen since last night?"

"No." Joe glanced toward the doorway nervously. "Uh, Callie didn't come?"

"We talked about it," Frank said, "and we decided that you seemed like you wanted to tell whatever it is to just me. You're okay, aren't you? You're not in some kind of trouble?"

"No. For once, I'm not in any trouble, actually. Well, except that somebody might be trying to kill me, but that's not related." Joe bit his lip. He had stayed up half the night, rehearsing how he was going to broach the subject, but now he had forgotten everything.

He got a few extra seconds to think as the waitress brought their coffees and asked, "Are you ready to order, or would you like a few more minutes?"

"I am," Frank replied. "How about you, Joe?"

"Yeah, sure," Joe said. Even though he had made a great pretense of looking at the menu, he hadn't actually read anything on it.

"I'll have the special," Frank went on. He had vaguely noticed that the special was some kind of omelet, but he didn't really care right now. He was starting to be very concerned about Joe.

"I'll have the same," Joe added.

As the waitress left again, Frank briefly contemplated whether he should press Joe to tell him what was bothering him or steer the conversation to something less nerve-wracking. He decided on the latter.

"I asked Dad for the day off today, since Nancy and Ned and the rest of the River Heights crowd will be flying in later this morning. Although, Nancy and Ned aren't going to be the River Heights crowd much longer since they're going to be moving."

"Uh-huh." Joe couldn't think of anything more intelligent to say.

"Emerson's a nice town, though," Frank continued. "I liked it when I was going to college there. I always wished you were going to college there, too, though. We would have had a lot of fun together, with you and me and Ned and Nancy and the rest."

"Yeah." Joe took a deep breath. It wasn't that he didn't care about what Frank was saying, but he needed to just get this said before he lost all his nerve. "Frank, there's something I need to tell you." Then his nerve broke again, and all he could do was sit there. The pause was long, and finally he put his face into one hand. "Now, I feel like an idiot."

"That's no big reveal," Frank teased him. Ordinarily, Joe wouldn't have minded, but right now, it seemed to make things even worse. Frank quickly moved on. "So, you say you're not in trouble. Is someone else in trouble?"

Joe shook his head. "No. I – I'm going – I've decided to – Frank, I'm –"

"Hey, just breathe," Frank told him. "Whatever it is, it can't be that bad."

"It's not bad at all, actually," Joe found himself saying. _Just say it, Joe,_ he berated himself silently. _This is Frank I'm talking to._ He took another deep breath, steeling himself for whatever would come in the next minutes. "I'm going to be a priest."

"You're what?" The words seemed to come of their own volition. Frank felt that the only thing he could do right now was stare. Maybe he hadn't heard right.

The words were out now. There was no taking them back or rewinding the moment. "I know, Frank," Joe said, although he would have been at a loss to explain what he supposedly knew. "I'm still waiting to get my acceptance letter to the seminary, but everyone said I should be fine."

Frank shook his head slowly, thoroughly bewildered. He would have hardly been more surprised if his brother had just told him he was going to Mars.

Joe was watching Frank's expression closely. Surprise and confusion were plainly written there for anyone to see, but the one thing that Joe had feared wasn't there – at least, not yet. "You're not – upset?"

"Ye – No," Frank stumbled around, hardly knowing what he was saying. "I don't know. I'm confused. Why? I thought you loved being a detective."

Confusion Joe could deal with. In fact, Joe had been so afraid that Frank would be furious with him that his honest, genuine confusion was a welcome relief. Suddenly, it was much easier to talk. "I do love detective work. I love it just as much as you do, and so I thought, of anyone, you would understand giving it up for something more important."

Frank shook his head. He couldn't say what he was feeling about this at the moment. "That's different," he said, not even meaning to argue. "I love Callie. I'd do anything for her."

It didn't take much to discourage Joe as to how well the conversation was going. "I don't think it's so very different at all, really," he said quietly.

"But why? I don't get it," Frank asked again.

"I don't know if you can understand how important this is to me," Joe said. "I'll try to explain." He paused, trying to pick the best words to explain himself without making Frank feel like he was being preached at.

By this time, Frank was so bewildered that he was ready to grasp at any straw to try to make sense of this. "This isn't because of Iola, is it?"

"Iola?" Joe blinked, confused in turn.

Frank nodded. "Since she broke up with you and she's the only girl you ever really cared about in that way and you haven't really dated anyone else since then and maybe you think you'll never find…" He broke off as the waitress returned with their orders, which she set in front of them.

"Two specials," she announced. "Will there be anything else?"

"No, thanks," Joe told her.

"Just let me know if there's anything else you want."

As she walked away, both Frank and Joe remained quiet for a moment, the interruption causing them to forget where they were in their discussion for the moment.

Joe remembered first. "No. This isn't because of Iola."

"Answer me truthfully," Frank insisted. "You never would have thought of this if you and Iola hadn't broken up, would have you?"

"I can't answer that," Joe stammered. "I don't know. Probably not. I guess what probably would have happened is that we would have gotten married and made each other miserable because we were too immature. We both needed to do some growing up to know what we really wanted, and now that we have, we both realize it's not each other." He paused, hoping he wasn't making a total mess of this. "But I can't say for sure what would have happened. The only thing I can say for sure is that I'm glad things ended up the way they did. It would have made this decision even harder to make if Iola and I had still been together. For that matter, Frank, you've made it easier on me, too."

"How?"

"Because of what happened with you and Callie in Rome. I was thinking about this before that, a long time before that, actually, but I never thought I could ever really give up detective work and working with you, but then you gave it up for Callie, and that somehow made it easier." Joe paused. "Of course, it doesn't make it completely easier. Now Dad's expecting even more for me to keep up the family business, and I don't know how to tell him I'm not going to."

"So, why is this so important to you?" Frank was regaining his composure, but he still felt thrown off-balance.

Joe hesitated a moment, casting about for the best way to begin. "Since everything that's happened – Terry Shanth, Evangeline Moriare, Black Rose – I've done a lot of thinking and I guess you'd call it soul-searching. I've done a lot of classes with RCIA – er, the Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults, which I had to do before I could join the Church officially – and I've gone on retreats and done a lot of reading and studying and talked to priests and other Catholics and seen their examples, and I'm convinced that Catholicism is true."

"Okay, but that doesn't mean you have to be a priest."

"No," Joe admitted, "but I think that's what I'm called to do."

"But why?" Frank felt that he'd done little else in the conversation beside ask why, but there was nothing else he could think of to say. "You're such a talented detective; why don't you think that's your calling?"

"I also have some talent in sports and some in music," Joe pointed out, "but I've never even thought about being a professional athlete or musician."

"Not very many people get the chance to do those things professionally," Frank countered. "Besides, you're good at them, but you're a great detective. Why throw that away?"

"You're a great detective, too."

Frank closed his eyes. There wasn't much he could say to that. Joe knew that he had an advantage with Frank's situation with Callie, and he was pressing it. But he was right. Frank raked his hair back with his fingers. "I just need some time to process this. Have you told anyone else?"

"No. At least, not in our family," Joe said. "All the people I had to talk to to apply know, of course."

"How about we talk about it later?" Frank replied. "I'll call you after I've had some time to think."

"Okay." Joe tried to keep his voice steady, although he was starting to worry that maybe Frank wasn't going to take this so well, after all. "I'll just keep working on the case for the rest of the day."

In almost a daze, Frank got up and left the restaurant. He hadn't touched his food, but breakfast was the last thing on his mind right now. Joe remained sitting for a few minutes, trying to calm himself as he thought about what his next move would be. Now that he'd told Frank, he needed to tell his parents, Callie, and – he winced – Aunt Gertrude as soon as possible. Maybe it would keep until tomorrow. At any rate, he would wait until he had talked to Frank again so that he could better gauge how his brother was taking it.

Then he turned his thoughts to the case. He thought that Biff didn't work until noon again today, which meant that he would have a couple hours to help Joe out. He pulled out his phone and texted him. As for what he could actually do to work on the case, there was still Mario's idea to go see if there were any old neighbors who remembered Robert and Tina Morley. It was a long shot, but he might as well give it a try.

Having made that decision, Joe relaxed enough to realize he was hungry after all. His phone screen said that it was a few minutes after nine. While he was looking at it, Biff texted back, saying he would meet Joe at the restaurant. Then he picked up his fork and tried not to worry about what was going to happen.


	13. The Attic

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! In particular, thank you to everyone who has left reviews since I posted the last chapter: max2013, Candylou, Highflyer (funny you mention Father Brown – I LOVE Father Brown – the books, anyway, I haven't really seen the show), BMSH, EvergreenDreamweaver, and Cherylann Rivers._

Chapter XIII

The Attic

"So, if this doesn't pan out, do you have a Plan B?" Biff asked as he and Joe drove down to the address where Robert and Tina Morley once lived.

"I'm working on it," Joe replied, although at the moment it was difficult to focus his thoughts on the case.

The Morleys' former house was a small, '50s-style, two-story home. It was well-kept up without any sign of flaking paint, as well as a lawn that was kept neatly mowed without any trace of weeds.

"It doesn't look like crooks live there now," Biff commented.

"It would be a pretty weird coincidence if some did." Joe shook his head. "Let's start with the next-door neighbors, and if they can't help us out, keep spreading out until we somebody who can or we get too far down the street."

The neighbors directly to the right of the former Morley residence had only lived there about two years, and so they couldn't help. The house on the left, however, was occupied by an elderly woman, and so that looked more promising.

"My name is Joe Hardy," Joe introduced himself after the woman had answered the doorbell and asked how she might help. "I'm a private investigator…"

"Oh, yes, I've heard of you," the woman interrupted, excitement in her voice. "I've lived in Bayport a long time and I remember when you and your brother – Fred?" She looked at Biff questioningly.

"Frank," Joe corrected her. "This is a friend of mine, Biff Hooper."

"Oh." The woman seemed slightly disappointed that she wasn't being called on by both the famous Hardy Boys. "Well, anyway, I remember when you were only teenager solving mysteries. I'm Ellen Carraway. Are you here on an investigation?"

"Yes," Joe told her, "and if you've lived here a long time, you're exactly the person who can help us."

"I've lived in this house for fifty-eight years now," Ellen announced with a trace of pride.

"Great." Joe was surprised at comparatively easy this was looking to be. "We were wondering if you remember the people who lived in the house to the right of yours fifty years ago. The Morleys?"

Ellen looked thoughtful for a moment. "Yes, I remember. Bob and Tina. Nice people, but they didn't live here very long. They must have moved out in, oh, '69 or '70."

"Do you remember where they moved to?" Joe asked.

"Hmm." Ellen crossed her arms, obviously trying to remember. "It's been a long time," she said apologetically. "Why don't you boys sit down and I'll get you something to drink and see if I can't remember a little better."

Joe and Biff agreed. Ellen had a small patio table with chairs on her porch, and they each took one of the chairs. While they were waiting for her to return, a car pulled into the driveway of the former Morley house. A woman of around forty-five got out and gave Joe and Biff a curious look. She hurried across her lawn and then across Ellen's.

"Do you two need something?" she asked when she got closer.

"We were just talking to Mrs. Carraway," Joe replied, curious at the woman's boldness.

Just then, Ellen returned with three glasses of lemonade. "Oh, Maya, if I knew you were home, I would have brought you some lemonade, too. Let me get you some. Maya is my daughter, you see," she added for the benefit of her visitors.

An idea popped into Joe's head. Ellen seemed very eager to help, and if her daughter lived in the Morleys' old house…

He introduced himself and Biff again, and then asked Maya, "How long have you lived here?"

"I grew up in this house, but my husband and I only bought that one –" She nodded toward her own home – "about fifteen years ago."

"Has that house changed hands very many times?" Joe asked.

"Goodness, yes," Ellen said, coming out with a fourth glass of lemonade just in time to hear Joe's question. "Ever since I've lived here, it seems as if it's been put up for sale every few years. Maya and Bryce have lived there longer than anyone I can remember. Most of the time, though, it's just been empty." She turned to her daughter. "These boys are detectives, and they've been asking about some people who used to live in your house."

"I knew you were a detective," Maya said to Joe. "Is this about that bank robbery?"

The question took Joe off-guard. "Well…"

"Right, you were telling me about that, Maya," Ellen interrupted. "The robbery from fifty years ago. Surely, you don't think the Morleys were the robbers, do you?"

"I…" Joe started to say.

"What if they were?" Maya cut him off. "What if they hid the money in my house? You know, Bryce and I have been meaning to remodel ever since we bought the house, but we've never gotten around to it. They could have hidden all that money in the floor or the wall, and we never would have noticed."

"I don't…" Joe tried again to get a word in edgewise.

"Do you want to look?" Maya went on.

Joe was certain that such a search would be fruitless, at least as far as finding the money from the robbery was concerned. However, it was entirely possible that it might turn up some other clue.

"Yes, if it's all right with you," he said.

The search was gotten underway, with Joe asking if there was any area in the house where former occupants had left items behind. If there was a clue of some sort – and Joe admitted to himself that the chances of such a thing were slim – it was much more likely to be hidden inside something else rather than concealed in the walls or floors. Maya and her mother, however, did not agree. They shared an impetuous nature, causing both of them to be ready to begin tearing up the floorboards in the basement with crowbars. Fortunately, Joe convinced them that that wouldn't be necessary, and they finally agreed to search in the attic instead, where Maya thought some boxes had been left behind.

As it turned out, the attic was small, and Maya and her husband had stored many of their own belongings there. It took Maya a long time to sort out what was hers and what had been left behind by others. By that time, it was past eleven o'clock. The two women, after their first enthusiasm had begun to die down, went to see about lunch, which was rather a relief to Joe, who preferred not to answer their ceaseless questions about the case.

Biff rubbed his hands. "I don't have a lot of time before I need to get to work, so let's get searching."

However, as both of them expected, the next half hour passed without yielding anything that could be a clue or even could be positively identified as having belonged to either Robert or Tina Morley.

After a while, Biff rocked back on his heels, overwhelmed by how much stuff there was to go through, how little time there was to do it, and how small the chances were that he and Joe would actually find something.

"You know what?" he commented off-handedly. "I had the weirdest dream last night. I can't get it out of my head."

"Fascinating," Joe replied as he continued looking through a musty cardboard box full of papers.

"It was kinda fascinating, actually," Biff went on. "It was about that guy that used to own my car. Jeremy Wilson."

Joe paused at that bit of information. That was an odd coincidence, considering his own dream from the night before last, although that surely was all it was. After all, Jeremy Wilson had been on both their minds for the last few days.

"It seemed very real," Biff went on. "I was over in Vietnam. There had just been a battle or something, and I was just standing there, wondering what the heck I was doing there, and somebody grabbed my leg. I look down and it's…"

"Jerry Wilson," Joe finished, baffled at the similarity between the two dreams.

"Yeah." Biff wrinkled his brow. "How did you know?"

"I think I had the same dream." Although the whole thing was incredibly strange, Joe couldn't resist grinning at one thought. "You weren't dressed up as a priest, were you?"

"No." Biff's voice was a little distant as he thought about what he was saying. "I was wearing a Coast Guard uniform. The funny thing is – or maybe not so funny. They say dreams usually use things that you've been thinking about lately. Anyway…"

"You've been thinking about joining the Coast Guard," Joe finished for him again.

"Yeah." Biff expression grew even more confused. "You weren't kidding about having the same dream." He paused and then held up a hand with his thumb and pointer finger close together. "I've been that close to going down and enlisting."

"Why haven't you?"

Biff shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I'm twenty-five and it's time for me to stop changing my mind every fifteen minutes about what I want to do. I'm starting to feel like Chet. The garage is a good job, I guess."

"But that's all it is," Joe supplied for him. "Just a job."

"Right. I'm probably overthinking this whole dream thing. It just seemed…" Biff paused, a thought suddenly occurring to him. "Wait. You said you had a dream just like it? And you asked…? Does that mean you're going to…?"

There was no getting out of it now. Joe hadn't intended to tell everybody today, but now that he'd started, he might as well get it over with. "Yeah. That's what it means."

It took Biff a moment to let it register. "Huh. You know, the other day, when we were talking about it, and you sounded like you weren't so excited about the whole detective scene anymore, Chet and I were joking later about you becoming a priest."

"You were?"

"Uh-huh." Biff lowered his voice as if he was about to say something confidential that might be overheard. "You know, that's been the running joke around here for a while now."

"You're kidding." Joe stared at him incredulously. "You mean, you guys saw this coming?"

"Well, no. Like I said, it was just a joke. We never thought… Are you really going to go through with it?"

"Yes. I know it's…"

"Oh, you don't need to make excuses or anything." Biff waved his hand and shrugged. "If that's what you want to do, Joe, it's fine by me."

Joe didn't even realize how tense he had been until he relaxed at Biff's words. "Thanks. I've got to admit, I've been a little worried how everyone was going to take this."

"I'll bet. I mean, I've been anxious what people are going to think about me quitting the garage job and switching to the military instead. Speaking of which –" Biff glanced at his phone to check the time – "I've got to get to work. Are you going to keep hanging around here?"

"Might as well," Joe replied. "It's already Thursday. I'm running out of free days to get this mystery solved."

However, after Biff had gone, Joe didn't get right back to work. The conversation with Biff had revealed several things that Joe took a moment to think over. Most of all, he was relieved that Biff had taken the news so easily. Biff was one of his closest friends, and he and Chet had probably seen more of the impulsive and foolish things that Joe had done than even Frank had. If he had put no objections forth and even, possibly, hadn't been completely surprised, perhaps everyone else would accept it more easily than Joe feared.

Then there was the whole thing with the dream. Joe wasn't usually one to put much stock into dreams, but this one was an odd coincidence. He couldn't help wondering about the last thing Jeremy had told him in his dream: not to make the same mistake about the case that Jeremy had. What mistake had Jeremy made?

He was mulling this over when a thought struck him. It was a crazy idea, he thought at first, but then, everything fit. If he was right, though, it was a serious matter. He would have to be absolutely sure before he said anything to anyone, but if he was right, he couldn't waste any time. He took one final look around the attic, but he told himself the chances of finding anything here were slim. Besides, Maya seemed eager enough to help that if Joe did run out of other options, she would probably let him come back to look. Right now, he needed to focus on this other idea.

He told Maya and Ellen that something else had come up and excused himself. As he climbed into his car, he remembered his dad's request that he didn't do any investigating on his own. He hesitated. Then, with a determined set to his chin, he put his car into gear.


	14. Where Lies the Blame?

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to Cherylann Rivers, max2013, Candylou, BMSH, and EvergreenDreamweaver for your reviews on the last chapter!_

Chapter XIV

Where Lies the Blame?

"If there's one thing that River Heights is missing, it's the ocean." Bess Marvin Evans took a deep breath, inhaling the cool, salty breeze that was blowing in with the evening.

"And if there's one thing this ocean is missing, it's the party we were told about," her husband, Dave, added. "Where is everybody?"

There were only eight people gathered on the beach: Bess and Dave, their six-month-old daughter, Shaina, Bess's cousin, George Fayne, George's fiancé, Burt Eddleton, and their close friends, Nancy and Ned Nickerson, as well as their eleven-month-old daughter, Marian. They had arrived in Bayport a few hours ago and had taken that time to get settled in their hotel rooms. They had just arrived on the beach where Joe had told them he was hosting a get-together.

"They'll be here," George said with confidence. "If there's one thing you can count on the Hardys to be, it's late."

The others had to chuckle at that observation, which past experience had taught them was true.

"Look," Nancy pointed out. "Here come Van and Tony now."

Vanessa Bender had lived in River Heights and worked for Nancy and Ned in their detective business for the last couple years. During that time, she had gotten to be close friends with Nancy and her friends.

Soon after that, the others whom Joe had invited began straggling in. Frank and Callie were amongst the last to arrive, although Biff and Joe himself had yet to put in appearances. As soon as Nancy saw Frank and Callie, she went to greet them both with a hug.

"It seems like ages since I've seen the two of you," she said.

"Probably because it has been," Callie replied. "We don't see each other nearly often enough. Marian's probably walking and talking by this time."

"A little bit of both," Nancy said. "You should see her. Come on." She half-dragged Callie over to where Ned was holding Marian and began asking her small daughter, "Can you say 'mama'?"

Frank followed a little more slowly. He couldn't help but smile at how completely in love with their daughter Ned and Nancy were or at how taken Callie seemed with her. It wasn't hard to guess that Callie was thinking about her own child and looking forward to getting to be the proud parent herself. At the same time, Frank was wondering where Joe was and how he was taking Frank's less-than-enthusiastic response to his announcement that morning. After Frank had thought it over and gotten past the surprise, he had decided he would be completely supportive of Joe in this decision. He couldn't quite understand it, but he realized that it meant a lot to Joe and also that it hadn't been an easy decision. If this was what Joe felt he needed to do, then Frank would do everything he could to help him. He had called Joe earlier to tell him so, but Joe hadn't answered, and he wasn't sure what to make of that. It could be that Joe was so wrapped up in his case that he wasn't paying attention to his phone – it wouldn't be the first time that had happened – or it could be that Frank had offended him in their talk earlier and that Joe didn't want to talk to him. Or it could be that something had happened to Joe.

"Hey, is something wrong?" Frank started a little to find that while he had been lost in thought, Nancy had excused herself from the admiration over her baby and come to check on him. "I notice you're not exactly in the party mood."

Frank shook himself. "No. I'm fine. I'm just wondering where Joe is."

"Ah. I see."

"You see what?" Frank replied.

"Joe has a case, and you're not there to make sure nothing happens to him," Nancy said. "Am I right?"

"Partly," Frank conceded. "I'm going to try calling him again and find out where he is."

He stepped a short distance away and again called his brother's number, but again it just rang until Joe's voicemail came on. He was still frowning at his phone when he saw Biff coming down the beach.

"Hey, everybody!" Biff shouted as soon as he was within hearing distance. "Hope you haven't started the party without me!"

"Biff, what are you doing here?" Frank asked.

Biff gave him a confused grin. "I thought I was invited."

"Well, yeah, but where's Joe?"

"I dunno." Biff shrugged. "Isn't he here?"

"I thought he was with you," Frank said.

"No. Anyway, not since this morning. I had to work, you know."

"What's going on?" Nancy broke in. "Why are you so worried about Joe? Did something happen?"

"I don't know," Frank replied. "He hasn't answered his phone all day. Maybe he's just ignoring me, though."

"Why would he do that?" Nancy crossed her arms. "That doesn't sound like Joe."

"Well, this morning," Frank tried to explain without breaking his brother's trust, "it wasn't really an argument. I don't know what you'd call it. Anyway, Joe would want to explain it himself."

"Oh, you mean, about him becoming a priest," Biff supplied.

"Yeah," Frank said, a bit of terseness in his voice. "That's exactly what he would have wanted to explain for himself?"

Nancy looked from Frank to Biff in confusion. "Are you guys serious?" Neither answered, as Biff had just realized that he had made a blunder and Frank wasn't sure what to say, but Nancy could tell from their faces that they were. She brushed her surprise aside; there would be time to ask questions about that later. For now, she was going to focus on the only question about it that really mattered, "Why would Joe ignore you because of that, Frank?"

"Personally, I'm more concerned that there's somebody running around putting bombs in Joe's car," Biff interjected.

"When did that happen?" Nancy asked, a slight rise in her voice's pitch the only indication that this sudden news had sounded an alarm in her.

"A couple of days ago," Frank said. "Dad told Joe not to go investigate by himself, but obviously he didn't listen, since everyone's here except for Joe. Wait, Mario's not here. Maybe he's with Joe."

Half-distracted, he made his way to Tony and asked him if he had his cousin's phone number. By this time, everyone had overheard enough of the conversation between Frank, Nancy, and Biff to gather that something was amiss, and all other conversation faded. Tony placed a call to Mario, who informed him that while he was at Joe's apartment, Joe wasn't there and he hadn't heard from him. Everyone was quite as Tony relayed this information to them.

"There's no need to panic," Nancy said, although there was a knot of anxiety inside her. "I'll try calling Joe. He probably just left his phone in his car or something." Her call, however, had the same results as Frank's had. She was beginning to feel that Joe had gotten himself into some trouble after all, but she knew she needed to keep a cool head. "Okay, so who was the last person to see or talk to Joe?"

"Last time I saw him was around eleven-thirty," Biff offered, and everyone else said that they had neither seen nor talked to Joe since then.

"All right." Nancy glanced at her watch. It was quarter after seven. Almost eight hours had passed since anyone had seen Joe. "Where did you see him at, Biff? Did he say where he was going after that?"

"He just said he was going to keep looking around in this attic of this house where somebody he thought might have been involved in the robbery used to live," Biff said.

"Okay. If we have to, we can go ask the people there if he said anything to them, although I doubt it," Nancy continued. "Frank, why don't you call your parents? From the sound of it, he might have had something to talk to them about this afternoon. Maybe he's still there."

"You're right." Frank took out his phone and called his dad. They, however, hadn't heard from Joe.

"He might have gone to check in with the police," Nancy suggested.

At Nancy's words, Frank's mind instantly went back to his suspicions about Captain O'Rourke. "I think it would be better if we went to police headquarters to talk to them in person. Come on, Nance." He paused. "You don't mind if I go, do you, Callie?"

"Of course not," Callie assured him.

"Ned, you stay here and call us if Joe decides to show up," Nancy said. "Biff, if the police don't know anything, we'll probably check out that house, and we'll need you to show us where it is."

"Do you think you could use an FBI man?" Tony volunteered.

"You never know," Nancy replied. "We just might need someone more official. Come on."

HBHBHBHBHB

Callie watched her husband hurry up the beach along with Nancy, Biff, and Tony. She wished she was home right now. Then she could just curl up on the couch and slowly die inside. Here, surrounded by all her friends, she was going to have to try to keep from crying or anything ridiculous like that. At least she would put herself on the edge of the group, and maybe no one would notice her.

That plan didn't work. She had just barely sat down in the sand a little distance away from the others when Ned Nickerson, who was still holding Marian, sat down a couple of feet away from her.

"You okay?" he asked.

Callie didn't know Ned very well. For that matter, she didn't even know Nancy all that well. The two women had an understanding between each other, but Callie didn't think she had ever even talked to Ned outside a group setting where the whole group had been talking to each other in general. It surprised her that out of everyone there, Ned would be the one to come and ask her if she was all right. At the moment, it annoyed her a little, too.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she lied.

Years of working on cases with Nancy had taught Ned better than to believe such an obvious lie, but it had also taught him better than to call Callie out on it. He pretended to take the answer completely at face-value while he focused his attention on Marian, helping her to stand up.

Callie watched them dully for a minute or two. Ned's lack of response was telling her that he knew her answer hadn't been honest. Of course he would know. He was one of Frank's friends, after all. They had gone to college together, after all, and Frank had been a groomsman at Ned and Nancy's wedding. Ned had to know what was going on between her and Frank. Besides that, he had heard Frank ask Callie if it was all right if he went to look for his own brother who could be in danger. She knew Frank had been trying to be considerate of her – he was always thinking of her – but this was one time when she wished he wouldn't have been trying so hard. What did everyone think of her?

She tried to get a grip on herself. None of this was Frank's fault. If she had a little more faith in him and didn't worry so much, if she just would have kept quiet about her fears, Frank would have been with Joe tonight, and no one would have to worry about him. If it was just a false alarm, they would know that by now, and if it was more serious than that, Joe would have had a better chance of getting out of it with his brother there.

"It's my fault," she said aloud, suddenly caring what anyone else thought.

"What is?" Ned asked. He had been paying more attention than he was pretending.

"I've made such a mess out of everything," Callie went on. Tears were rising up in her eyes, and one trickled down her cheek. "I've been so stupid. Why couldn't I just think before I opened my mouth?"

"Hey, it's okay," Ned told her. "Whatever you think you did, it's okay."

"No, it's not okay. It's really not. Half the girls in Bayport High were after Frank and I'm sure there were even more in college. Why did he settle for the one who was going to try to change him and even try to come between him and Joe? If I just wouldn't have said anything…"

"Callie, listen to me," Ned broke in. "First of all, Frank didn't 'settle' for anything. He's always been crazy about you. I should know; we were fraternity brothers, after all, and there were a lot of nights he spent talking on the phone instead of studying. Secondly, it's okay to talk about your worries with Frank. He's the one person you should always be able to talk to about anything."

"If I would have just left it at talking, it would have been okay, but I had to go and ask him to give up detective work, and now if anything's happened to Joe because Frank wasn't there, it's all because of me."

Ned looked out toward the ocean before he replied. "Joe's what? Twenty-four, twenty-five? He doesn't need his big brother holding his hand all the time."

"But he does need him watching his back," Callie pointed out. "And he's not doing that because of me."

"I don't want to spoil your picture of Frank, but I don't think you forced him to make the decisions he's made. I'm no so sure you even could have."

"What are you talking about?"

Ned hesitated. "I haven't talked a whole lot to either Frank or Joe since last November, but I have heard a pretty complete account of what happened. Enough to know that none of that should have happened. But I've also been around this work long enough to know that things like that do happen. No matter how careful you are, no matter how many people you have watching your back, no matter who you have watching your back, if you're going to be a detective, you're going to run into danger. So, if anything has happened to Joe, it's not your fault."

"What if Frank could have kept him out of trouble?" Callie asked.

Ned chuckled. "Then Frank would have to be a magician or something. Seriously, though, Frank's not the only one Joe could have called on. I mean, there's his dad for starters."

"True." Callie sighed. "But if that's so, it still doesn't help Frank. He's not happy not doing real detective work. I don't know what to do."

"Well, it would probably be more productive talking to him about it than me."

"Maybe, maybe not. We're both so sick of the whole subject. We can't come to any decision that we're both happy with. At this point, even if I said I changed my mind and I want Frank to go back to being a detective, he wouldn't do it because he wouldn't believe me."

"There's got to be something that would work," Ned insisted. "I think forensics is a good idea, but I guess if it's not working, it's not working. What if he still did that, but every once in a while, he and Joe took a case like one of the ones they used to have. You know, a good, old-fashioned haunted house or buried treasure or something like that, without any kidnappings, murders, or crazy people out for revenge."

Callie smiled slightly. "I wouldn't mind something like that." Then her smile faded. "Ned, how do you do it? How do you go through every day knowing that it could be the last time you ever see Nancy?"

Ned didn't answer right away. "I guess by not thinking about that too much. I know it's good to be prepared for things like that, but it's no use crying over something that hasn't happened yet and hopefully never will. Also, I know that if the worst ever does happen, it will be because there was nothing Nancy or I could have done to prevent it."

"She wouldn't have to keep solving mysteries."

"Yeah. But then she wouldn't be Nancy, and I would have lost her anyway."

Callie looked away.


	15. Running out of Time

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you for continuing to read this story! Thank you so much to BMSH, Candylou, max2013, Cherylann Rivers, EvergreenDreamweaver, and Guest for your reviews on the last chapter!_

Chapter XV

Running Out of Time

Captain Olaf was just coming out of his office when he was accosted by Frank Hardy and a young woman he had never met before. Frank quickly introduced her as Nancy Drew Nickerson, and if Olaf hadn't recognized the person, he certainly recognized the name. The Hardy Boys had mentioned her often enough.

"Could we talk to you a minute, Captain?" Frank asked.

Olaf sighed. "Is it important? I'm just getting off duty, and it's been a long day, mostly because of your brother."

"Have you seen him at all today?" Frank asked quickly – a little too quickly.

"No. Should I have?" Olaf scanned the faces of both Frank and Nancy.

"We're a little bit concerned about him," Nancy told him. "No one's heard from him since eleven-thirty this morning, and he's not picking up his phone now."

"Well, he hasn't been in here at all, that I know of," Olaf said. "You could ask the Chief or some of the others, but I haven't seen him at all."

"We sent Tony and Biff to do that," Frank replied. "I want to talk to you in particular, though."

"About what?"

"O'Rourke."

Olaf nodded slowly. "Let's step back into my office."

Frank and Nancy followed him, and they all sat down.

Before anything else was said, Olaf told the other two detectives, "Everything that's said here is completely off the record. You may be certain that until further notice, I won't be saying anything about what is said here, and I expect the same from you. And I mean not to let this get out to anyone, unless all three of us determine that the time for silence is over. Is that agreed?"

"Yes," Nancy said.

"Absolutely," Frank added.

"You have suspicions about O'Rourke?" Olaf asked.

Frank nodded. "As I told you before, O'Rourke stopped by the office the other day and was asking some pretty nosy questions, I thought, especially about something that didn't concern him. Then yesterday, when you and I were talking to Colby Justeson, I noticed that Colby seemed – I don't know, nervous when he saw O'Rourke walk past. If there's any possibility that O'Rourke could have had something to do with Joe disappearing, I need to know."

"Well, I don't know that I'd go that far," Olaf said, "although I'm about ninety-eight percent convinced that O'Rourke is dirty."

"Why are you holding back that last two percent?" Nancy asked.

"Because I'm still missing the evidence. See, if I go to Collig with nothing but suspicions, he'll think it's all just talk. The worst part is that I think O'Rourke knows I'm onto him, and so he's been making a big deal about our mutual rivalry. That way, if I bring anything up, it'll sound like it's fueled by that."

"The two of you have a rivalry going on?" Nancy sounded slightly disappointed. After all, she had seen enough professional rivalries to know that there was a good possibility that there was all there was in Olaf's suspicions.

"That's right," Olaf confirmed. "I've been with the Bayport PD for nine years now. O'Rourke has been for thirty. Not only that, but his father was on the department for thirty-seven years until he was, well, not actually killed in the line of duty, although he was murdered, and although the case was never solved, most people still believe it was because he was a cop. Now, in spite of all of that, I have the same rank as O'Rourke. Granted, I put in ten years in another police department before I came here, but no doubt in O'Rourke's eyes, I'm still a newbie. You can figure the rest out."

"Professional jealousy," Nancy commented. "That would explain why he might make false accusations against you, but it doesn't make a lot of sense the other way around."

"O'Rourke says that I've weaseled my way up in the ranks," Olaf told her, "and that I intend to continue to weasel my way up until I get appointed chief. Given his record, he believes he's the most likely to get the appointment, and so he's been noising it around that the only way I could get the appointment is to somehow discredit him."

"I see," Nancy replied. "I take it you have something more substantial that you're basing your suspicions on?"

"Yes. I'm almost certain that O'Rourke has been dipping into any caches of narcotics or cash that he uncovers in his work, although he's careful about it. He only steals from ones that he gets to first. That way, no other officer can get a count on it and notice the discrepancy."

"Then how did you notice?" Frank asked.

Olaf took in a deep breath. "Like I said, I have no evidence. I have been keeping track and any time he recovers money from a burglary, it's never the full amount, even if it's less than twenty-four hours since the burglary took place. Other officers will recover full amounts, but never him. That doesn't prove much in itself, nor does anything I base my suspicions on. It's most that all of it together looks highly suspicious."

"You haven't convinced me yet," Nancy said. "What else do you have?"

"Well, Frank noticed the way the Justeson kid acted when O'Rourke showed his face. So did I. I also happen to know that O'Rourke has been in charge of almost every investigation into Justeson there has been over the last two years, and there have been five. The only one that the kid got arrested for was also the only one where the kid actually got arrested. There are others with the exact same record, mostly kids. Now, if that isn't enough to raise some eyebrows, you saw the way Justeson talked to me, Frank. You know, showing disrespect in every way he knows how. But when he talks to O'Rourke, it's all 'yes, sir' and 'no, sir' and is every inch a kid who's trying to win favor with an adult."

Nancy considered this. "It still doesn't prove anything. This kid simply could have had more contact with O'Rourke than any other officer and genuinely have some respect for him."

"Or he could be the key to figuring out what O'Rourke is up to," Frank added. "Are you still holding him?"

"No." Olaf's tone was regretful. "We had to cut him loose. Not enough evidence. And any idea of getting anything out of him isn't going to fly."

"We could try, though," Nancy said. "Do you know where he lives?"

"I'm not supposed to give out addresses of suspects, even to you two." Olaf hesitated.

"What about to the FBI?" Nancy asked.

"Of course, I can and should help them out in any investigations," Olaf replied.

Nancy and Frank grinned.

HBHBHBHBHB

"So, what's our plan of attack?" Biff rubbed his hands together eagerly as he looked through the car window toward address that Olaf had given them.

"It's not to attack," Frank told him. "This kid doesn't trust the police, and no wonder if O'Rourke is blackmailing him or something. We can't do anything more to make him distrust us."

"It would be better if not all of us went to the door," Tony said. "He probably wouldn't talk to me. I may not be police, but I'm still law enforcement, and he might not care about the difference."

"Right," Frank agreed. "The same goes for me, especially since he's already seen me with the police."

"Well, then, I guess that leaves me," Biff replied cheerily.

"Actually, I think Nancy is the best choice," Frank said. "Getting people to talk when they don't want to is one of your specialties, Nance."

"I'll give it a try," Nancy agreed.

She walked up the path to the front porch and pressed the doorbell. A few moments later, a middle-aged woman opened the door.

"Yes?" she asked, a hard look in her eyes as she stared at Nancy. "Are you a reporter?"

"No," Nancy said. "My name's Nancy Nickerson. I'm a private investigator. I'd like to speak with Colby, if I may. I believe he might be able to help me an investigation."

"Colby hasn't been in any trouble for over a year," the woman replied. "Why can't you cops just leave him alone?"

"Aw, Mom, let her in," a male voice came from within. "I'll deal with her."

Begrudgingly, the woman opened the door wider and stepped out of the way to let Nancy through. A young man who could have been no one but Colby Justeson was standing at the foot of a staircase, glaring at Nancy with his arms folded over his chest. "Well? What do you want now?"

Nancy gave him the most disarming smile she could. "Hi. I'm Nancy. You're Colby?"

"That's right," the boy replied. "Are you a cop?"

"No, I'm not a cop."

"Then who else is trying to make trouble for you?"

"Nobody," Nancy assured him. "In fact, I think, by the end of this conversation, I can help you get out of trouble."

Colby scoffed. "Nobody wants to get me out of trouble."

"I do. You see, I have a friend who might be in very big trouble, and I think you can help me get him out. If you do – even if it doesn't end up helping – I'll return the favor by helping you."

"Guess there isn't anything to lose." Colby shrugged. "As long as you swear you're not a cop…"

"I do," Nancy told him solemnly.

Colby gestured to her to sit down and then took a seat on the opposite side of the small living room that the front door opened into. "Okay. How can I help your friend?"

"He's Joe Hardy," Nancy began, but Colby cut her off.

"I knew this was some kind of set-up. I didn't put that bomb in his car." He threw in a colorful word or two to emphasize his point.

"I believe you," Nancy assured him. "I know you didn't, because I have a pretty good idea who did. I think you do, too."

"You think I made that bomb for someone else. Well, I didn't." Nancy thought she could detect a waver in Colby's voice as he said it.

"You're the only one who can tell me that."

"Why should I?"

"Because," Nancy said, "nobody can get hold of Joe or has heard from him in almost eight hours. We think that, maybe, the person who was trying to hurt him with that bomb might have him."

"I wouldn't know anything about that."

"I think you do."

Colby squirmed in his seat. "I'm not admitting anything, but if I knew who this person was, what did Joe Hardy ever do for me that I should mess up my whole life for him?"

Nancy didn't miss a beat. "What did the person who's behind this ever do for you that you should let them kill an innocent person and continue to get off scot-free?"

Colby's expression showed that he was working through this. He looked up at the woman who had answered the door and who was still standing sullenly by. "Mom, could I talk to her in private?"

"I'm your mother," the woman protested.

"Please, Mom."

"Oh, all right," Mrs. Justeson relented and left the room.

Colby leaned forward a little and spoke in a conspiratorial tone. "If you're right, and that animal has your friend, and he's had him for over eight hours, you're too late."

Nancy felt a knot of fear in her stomach, but she kept an outwardly calm appearance. "Maybe you're right, but I've got to try, anyway. Besides, this person deserves to be caught then."

"You're probably not going to believe me." Colby kept up his sulky appearance. "The guy's a cop."

"I know," Nancy said, "and we can stop him if you'll only help us. I won't tell anyone what you say to me right now."

"I thought 'everything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.'"

"That's only when you talk to the police. Just tell me what's going on, and I'll do everything in my power to stop this person without dragging you farther into all this."

Colby rubbed his hands together and bit his lip. He was clearly sizing Nancy up, trying to decide whether he could trust her or not. "Okay," he said finally. "I think you're being straight with me. I'll tell you everything, but not right now."

"Please," Nancy pleaded. "It could be the only way we can find Joe."

"I know." Colby swallowed hard. "You don't have time to listen to the whole story. If it's _him_ that has your friend, I think I know where he would have taken him, but you've got to hurry. You're probably too late already."


	16. In the Hands of the Enemy

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to Candylou, BMSH, max2013, Cherylann Rivers, EvergreenDreamweaver!_

Chapter XVI

In the Hands of the Enemy

 _8 hours earlier_

This was not going to be easy to investigate. Joe knew from his own experience that an accusation like this didn't go away easily, especially not if it was leveled against a police officer. If he wasn't completely certain of what he was saying, he would be risking ruining a man's reputation. A poor recompense for someone who had spent his life serving the community.

Unless he hadn't been. Everything was adding up against O'Rourke quickly. There were Frank's suspicions of him. True, Joe had blown them off at first, but then Frank had mentioned it again. He had a better instinct for people than he gave himself credit for, and he wouldn't hold onto something like that for no reason. O'Rourke must be acting suspiciously, and if he was, he had to have a reason for it. Of course, there were plenty of reasons that it could be. He may simply be genuinely curious. Perhaps he was frustrated, as he had told Frank, that Joe would be spending his time on something so unimportant when his talents would have been useful on more urgent cases.

Or maybe he was trying to cover the case up. There hadn't been much mysterious activity so far, but everything there had been could have easily been O'Rourke. There had been the police officer asking for Joe at the Mortons' farm the day before Joe discovered a bomb in his car. Chet's parents had said that the man's name had started with an O, and so Joe had assumed it was Olaf, who had contacted him later anyway. That hadn't made much sense to Joe at the time, but he hadn't thought about it much more since then. It could have been O'Rourke, either snooping on Joe's progress or trying to get a fix on where he was while he waited for a chance to get into Joe's car and plant the bomb. He must have learned somehow that Joe had gone out of town, leaving his own car in his driveway. That had given him the perfect opportunity to have plenty of time to break into the car. O'Rourke was a burglary expert; no doubt three decades of investigating such crimes had taught him how to pull them off. On the other hand, as far as Joe knew, he had never worked with bomb squad and had no background in electricity or mechanics. That meant that he very well could have installed the bomb so badly as to disconnect the starter.

That did leave the problem of how he had gotten the bomb. He couldn't have just picked it up at the local Walmart nor could have he built it himself. He would have had to have someone else make it for him. Colby Justeson was a likely candidate. If Frank's observations were correct – and Joe didn't really question that they were – then something had gone down between Colby and O'Rourke. Maybe O'Rourke had blackmailed him into making the bomb in return for O'Rourke helping him cover up some crime. There had also been the young man who had been asking questions of Kristy, but perhaps he was another kid that O'Rourke had somehow gotten under his thumb.

It was hardly air-tight evidence. There wasn't enough to make an arrest, and anyway, Joe wasn't sure. If O'Rourke was a clean cop, he didn't deserve to have someone start making accusations that were barely based on anything more than a hunch. The press would get hold of it, and there would be no way that story would go away anytime soon. If there was one thing that people loved to gossip about and were bad at forgetting, it was someone in authority messing up, even if it turned out it wasn't true. Joe had had something like that threatened against him once, and even though he'd gotten a lid on it before it hit the press, it hadn't been pretty. He wasn't going to do that to someone else unless he had proof of what he was saying.

The biggest problem with his whole theory was why? Why would O'Rourke want to go to so much trouble, even resorting to murder, to cover up a fifty-year-old crime? He had been a small child at the time, so obviously, he wasn't the robber himself. Was his father? It was possible, but Joe wasn't overly enthusiastic about that idea. Robert Morley still seemed a better suspect. However, if O'Rourke was covering up something for Colby, maybe he did that for others, and maybe he was taking after his father. Perhaps the reason the case hadn't been solved was because the robber had paid O'Rourke Sr. off to cover it up. That would even bear up with Jeremy's notebook, where he mentioned that the shred of evidence against Morley had been dismissed by an unnamed police officer. It could have been the elder O'Rourke, and trusting him could have been the mistake Jeremy had made. Of course, that last bit was assuming that there was something to Joe's dream, but otherwise, it all fit. If Joe solved the case, that would, at best from O'Rourke's point of view, open up the question of why it hadn't been solved at the time and, at worst, expose his father's crimes. That would lead to questions about O'Rourke himself, and possibly his little side-business would be brought out into the light.

There were other possibilities, of course, which fit all the evidence and didn't incriminate O'Rourke, but somehow Joe had a hunch that he'd hit on the answer. Now, he just had to get the proof.

If O'Rourke was blackmailing suspects and had been for basically his entire career, he had to have gotten quite a sum of money over the years. That would be reflected in his lifestyle, which his house might give some hints about. Now, O'Rourke was in his fifties. He probably remembered rotary phones. There was a good chance he still had a landline, and if he did, his address would be in the phonebook. To Joe's satisfaction, he had found that that was precisely the case, and so he was now headed for O'Rourke's home to do some old-fashioned snooping.

He parked down the street from O'Rourke's address and walked the rest of the way. He was disappointed to see that the house was a modest place, not kept up to peak condition, but far from being run-down. O'Rourke could have afforded to buy a place like this on a police officer's salary. However, if he had extra cash, he could be spending it in other ways.

The house had a two-car garage attached to it, and so Joe went to look in one of the windows. Maybe O'Rourke had sunk his ill-gotten gains into a fancy sportscar, but Joe quickly saw that that was not the case. The garage was empty.

Joe crossed his arms and thought. What else would someone spend money like that on? O'Rourke could have invested it, which would be a little tough to investigate. He also could have used it on some fancy vacations, which would be even tougher. Joe snapped his fingers. Vacation property. O'Rourke was getting old enough to think about retirement. Maybe he was planning on moving into some cozy, seaside cottage in Florida. That, too, left a wide area to search, but Joe had a hunch where to start. In the woods up above Shore Road, over beyond the Willow River, there were a number of cabins sprinkled throughout the trees. Some of them were little hunting cabins, but others were fancy. O'Rourke struck Joe as the outdoors type. He might just have bought one of those cabins.

"Looks like it's back to City Hall," Joe told himself. "I might as well live there."

It didn't take long to look up the property owned by Lawrence O'Rourke. There was his house in town where Joe had already been and – eureka – there was a cabin up in the woods. Joe jotted down the address and decided to go there right away. If there were clues anywhere, it was probably here.

Joe's GPS took him right to the cabin. He was disappointed to see that it was one of the small, unimpressive cabins rather than one of the palatial ones. Even so, Joe was here, so he would take a look around.

The front door was locked, naturally. Joe didn't see any alarm anywhere, and so he was tempted to pick the lock, but he decided against it. If he got any evidence, he wanted it to be admissible in court, and so he couldn't very well get it by breaking and entering. If he could find a door or window that was open, though, that would be another matter.

There weren't many windows in the cabin, and the ones that were there were covered by thick curtains on the inside. Joe couldn't help feeling that this seemed to indicate that O'Rourke had something to hide.

He went around to the back and found another door there. This one, too, was locked. He hadn't come all this way just to get turned back by locked doors. Even if it meant his findings wouldn't be admissible in court, he was going to find something. He took a slender tool out of his pocket and inserted it into the lock. A few moments later, the door swung open, and Joe went in.

The inside of the cabin was as unimpressive as the outside had been. There was a small kitchen with a fridge, a stove, cupboards, and a table with four chairs. Then there was a living room with a TV, couch, and bookshelf, a bedroom with a queen bed, a nightstand, and a dresser, and a bathroom with an old-fashioned bathtub that didn't drain through pipes and would instead have to be filled by hand and dumped outside. Joe checked all the cupboards and drawers, but there was nothing suspicious there. It was starting to look like this mission going to be a failure.

Then he heard a car pull up outside. He ran to a window and pulled the curtain aside just far enough to be able to see out. His heart sank as he recognized O'Rourke's car. His first impulse was to try to hide, but that would never work. He hadn't expected O'Rourke to show up while he was here, and so he just parked his car right outside, and O'Rourke must have recognized it and already realized who his unexpected caller was.

O'Rourke was coming to the door. At least, Joe could make a dash for the back door and try to get through the woods down to the road again. O'Rourke would know he had been there, but when he faced him about it, it could be in town with witnesses that way. He started to run.

O'Rourke must have expected the move. He didn't come inside, after all. He remained where he could see either side of the cabin, giving Joe no chance to run without being spotted. Joe, however, in his impetuousness, didn't notice that. He made a break around the left side of the cabin, only to hear O'Rourke shouting, "Freeze, Hardy!"

Joe skidded to a halt, having no doubt that O'Rourke was aiming a gun at him right this moment.

"All right, Hardy," O'Rourke ordered him, "face down and spread."

Joe sighed as he did as he was told. So much for his one last hope that he was wrong about O'Rourke. If O'Rourke was clean, he'd be confused about why Joe was here, but he wouldn't be treating him like a suspect.

O'Rourke searched him for a weapon and, finding none, put a pair of handcuffs on his wrists. "You can get up now. No gun, huh? That's not very smart, Hardy."

"Yeah, well, I guess not." Joe wasn't about to tell him that he had left his gun in his car; there might be some chance of getting to it still.

"Let's go inside."

Once O'Rourke had Joe inside the cabin, he told him to sit on the couch in the living room. Then he stood in front of him, still holding the gun while he stared at his prisoner thoughtfully.

"You're making a problem for me," he said finally. "I certainly can't let you go now, and there's no point in risking holding you here. There's only one thing to do, but I was hoping it wouldn't have to be so personal when I did it."

"Yeah, I guess blowing a guy up with a car bomb is pretty impersonal," Joe replied, falling back on his old strategy of sounding nonchalant in life-threatening situations while he desperately tried to think of a plan. "You know, killing me is honestly a pretty terrible way to cover anything up. Do you really think Dad and Frank wouldn't figure out who did it?"

"They can't do anything without clues," O'Rourke pointed out. "Did you tell anyone where you were going?"

"Do you really think I'd be that stupid not to?" Joe hoped O'Rourke wouldn't think so, even though he had been that stupid. Maybe the best plan was to change the subject. "What are you up to, anyway? What do you have going that's worth killing over?"

O'Rourke shook his head. "I'm not proud of it. I look at all the others on the police force, and I know any one of them would willingly throttle me if they found out what I was. All I've ever wanted was to be a great cop."

"Well, from the looks of things, you've done a pretty pathetic job of it."

"It's not my fault. It's the system. It's rigged against honest people. You give and you give and you give, and nobody ever thinks to give back."

"I literally don't know what you're talking about."

O'Rourke sat down next to Joe, closer than was comfortable. "I think you do. I've given my life to serving this community, and what have I gotten in return? A salary that I could barely afford the essentials on and a town full of people ready to pounce on me the first chance they got. It's the same that my father got for all his years of service. He taught me that I should expect my dues, and if no one gave them to me, then I should take them."

Joe looked him in the eye. "By blackmailing people?"

"If necessary. That was my dad's idea. He also taught me how and when to keep evidence that has some value to it for myself. Narcotics is the best. It's harder to trace than cash, and you're less likely to run into an 'honest' person." O'Rourke's face hardened. "There aren't any honest people, really. Everyone breaks the law when they think they won't be caught and it somehow benefits them. Even you. How else did you get inside my cabin?"

"Not everyone. It seems that way when you're in law enforcement, but it's not. There are good, honest people out there."

O'Rourke scoffed. "Don't talk to me about 'good, honest people.' I don't want to hear that drivel. I would think that you had seen enough of the world to know it's not true." He sighed. "Now I've got to figure out a way to get rid of you."

"Like I said, Dad and Frank will catch you," Joe said, starting to feel an element of panic. He had been in the hands of people who meant to kill him more than once, but that didn't guarantee that he would get out of this.

"I could make it look like an accident," O'Rourke mused, "but that is always complicated. Besides –" He shoved Joe forward so that he could examine his wrists. "Just like I thought. You've already bruised your wrists on the handcuffs. They'll figure it was murder, and there are too many moving parts in a rigged 'accident.' I'll simply have to make sure that they never find a body." He shook his head. "If you would have just left that old case alone, I wouldn't have to do this."

"So, your father was in on that," Joe said, trying to steel himself to make any break he possibly could.

"That's right. He covered it up for Morley, the guy who pulled it off. Got paid pretty good for it, too. Better than he was getting paid to investigate it. The Wilson kid, whose camera you found and started this whole thing, almost caught onto him. He even caught Dad meeting with Morley and his wife once and got a picture of them. Fortunately, Dad talked him into thinking that it was part of the investigation. I don't know how convinced he was, because that was after Dad told him not to bother investigating the Morleys, who, he said, couldn't possibly be involved. The kid got shipped out for Vietnam two days later and never came back, though, so that disaster was avoided. Otherwise, Dad would have probably had to do to him what I'm about to do to you."

"Did you also cover for the guy who killed your father?" Joe asked. He was getting desperate now. O'Rourke was getting ready to kill him, and he was going to be quick about it when he did it. Maybe if Joe could get him mad, he'd make a mistake and give Joe a chance to escape. It wasn't a good chance, but it was the only one he had right now, especially since there was no way help was coming.

The question did the trick. O'Rourke jumped to his feet and smacked Joe hard across the face. "I did not. But I couldn't let him get caught either. Dad made a mistake in trying to blackmail him. If the guy would have gotten hauled in, he would have burned both of us, so I killed him myself. You know, I never got caught for that one."

"Dad wasn't in town then," Joe pointed out.

"I don't…" O'Rourke began, but then his radio beeped. Joe recognized Con Riley's voice over the radio, calling for O'Rourke to come immediately to look into a possible break on one of their cases. Giving Joe a look that clearly meant that any sound from him would be the last he would ever make, O'Rourke replied, saying he would be there in twenty minutes. "All right. I don't have time to deal with you now." He clipped the radio back onto his belt. "But I'll be back soon. I'll just take a minute to make sure you don't wander off while I'm gone."


	17. Struggle in the Dark

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to Candylou, max2013, Cherylann Rivers, and BMSH for your reviews on the last chapter! There will be two more chapters after this one._

Chapter XVII

Struggle in the Dark

"Colby gave me the directions to a cabin where he thinks O'Rourke might have taken Joe," Nancy explained as she climbed back into Frank's car. "O'Rourke is definitely dirty, and… Colby thinks that if he has Joe, we're already too late."

Frank set his jaw. "We're heading there anyway. Nance, call my dad and give him the directions. Tell him us there. Then call the police and tell them the same thing."

Nancy nodded as she began making the calls, while Frank headed his car toward the cabin, going well above the speed limit once he got out of town. Once they were close to the cabin, he parked his car alongside the road, and he, Nancy, Tony, and Biff approached on foot. By now the sun had set and night had settled, and the cabin rose in front of them as a dark hulk. There wasn't a single light inside it.

"What do you think?" Tony whispered to Frank.

"It looks deserted. No car in front, nothing." Frank wished he could keep the tremor out of his voice. Ever since Nancy's report on Colby Justeson, he had felt a sinking feeling. If O'Rourke had kidnapped Joe, he wouldn't be merely holding him. He would want Joe silenced, and he would do it as quickly as possible. O'Rourke could have brought Joe here, done the deed, and left hours ago.

"Let's get up close," Nancy suggested. "Maybe we could hear something then."

All four of them crept to the cabin and began circling around it, Frank and Nancy taking one side and Tony and Biff the other. There was absolutely no sign of any living creature anywhere around, until they heard a door slam shut. Every one of them froze. The sound had come from the back of the cabin.

Frank was the first to make his way to the corner and peer around it. The back door was slowly creaking open, but then it swiftly closed again. Frank wrinkled his brow in confusion, but then he noticed that the door was flapping open and shut in the breeze. He let his shoulders loosen.

"I don't think there's anyone here," he whispered to Nancy. "They wouldn't let the door blow around like that if there was."

"Maybe they're asleep," Nancy suggested. "It's early, but you never know."

Tony and Biff slipped around their side of the cabin and came forward for a quick consultation. It was decided that Frank and Tony would slip inside to see if there was anyone there. While they were gone, Nancy noticed another building, farther off to the back that looked like a storage shed. Before she could mention it to Biff, Frank and Tony returned.

"There's nothing there," Tony reported, speaking a little louder than any of them had since they had arrived.

"There's another building over there." Nancy pointed it out. "It might be worth checking."

This building had large double-doors with only a wooden bar across them to close them. Frank and Biff removed this as quietly as they could, and then Frank cracked the door open. It was pitch black inside, but there was also no sound of any movement. Frank decided to risk beaming his flashlight around.

There was practically nothing inside except for a car that took up nearly all the space. Frank felt the knot in his stomach tighten as he recognized the car. "It's Joe's."

Nancy shone a flashlight through the windows of the car, but it was empty. The keys weren't in the ignition, and the front passenger window had been smashed.

The four searchers looked at one another questioningly, wondering what this could mean. None of them had yet formulated a coherent thought when they were startled by a shout from the woods behind the cabin followed by the sound of a gunshot.

"That sounded like Joe!" Frank didn't wait a second before he ran off in the direction of the sounds, his friends close behind him.

HBHBHBHBHB

 _A short time earlier_

Joe was stretched out on the back seat of his car. O'Rourke had pulled it into some kind of shed behind the cabin and made Joe get in. Then he had tied his ankles to the handgrip on one door. His hands were still handcuffed behind his back, and O'Rourke had looped another rope around of his shoulders and tied it to the handgrip on the opposite door. The end result was that Joe could get his hands anywhere near either the ropes or the doors to get out. If that wasn't bad enough, there were no windows in the shed and it was practically completely dark inside, giving him no chance to improve his chances by being able to see what he was doing. He was stuck.

It had already been hours. Whatever O'Rourke had been called away to do, it must have taken a long time and been something he couldn't break away from. Joe had spent a long time trying to wriggle out of the ropes somehow, but he had had no luck, and by now he was exhausted from the efforts. It was infuriating to have been left alone so long and still not be able to escape, but even so, he was grateful for the wait. It gave him plenty of time to think and pray and prepare himself as best he could for the fate that awaited him when O'Rourke returned. Besides that, there was always the slim hope that someone else would arrive before O'Rourke.

The chances of that were practically nonexistent, but even so an irresistible urge came over him to try calling for help. What could he lose? If anyone was around, they would have to be very close to hear him through the car and through the walls of the shed, but there was no sense in throwing away a chance, however small. He began to shout as loudly as he could.

He kept it up for almost fifteen minutes with no response. He paused to give his voice a chance to recover for a few minutes, but then started in again with a new fervor. Finally, he heard the door to the shed creak open, but no light flooded in. It could be O'Rourke, of course, but if it was, he already knew Joe was here, and so he wouldn't lose anything by continuing to yell.

"Over here!" Joe shouted. "In the car!"

Someone shone a flashlight through the window, practically blinding Joe with the sudden light. The person then tried to open the door to which Joe's ankles were tied, but O'Rourke must have locked the doors. Joe groaned. He hadn't even thought of that possibility, figuring there wasn't any point in it since Joe would have been able to unlock the doors if he had gotten loose. He hadn't thought of this situation.

"Are you okay?" the person shouted through the window. It was a male voice.

"I'm okay, but I'm tied up and can't get loose," Joe shouted back. "You've got to get me out. There's an insane killer who could be coming back any minute."

"Okay. Just hold on. Cover your face if you can."

The next moment, there was a loud crash, and the front passenger window – the side with Joe's feet – shattered inward. The stranger reached through the broken window and unlocked the doors. He cut through the ropes binding Joe in a moment, but there was nothing he could do with the handcuffs.

"Forget it," Joe told him. "Let's just get out of here."

His unknown rescuer jumped into the driver seat, but then he punched the steering wheel, causing a loud blast from the horn. "The key's gone."

He turned around to look at Joe, who was still in the front seat. He had left the driver door open, and so the dome light was on. For the first time, Joe had a good look at the young man's face, and even in that tense moment, all he could do was stare in shock. "Jerry?" he asked.

"Huh?" The young man stared back in confusion. He looked exactly like Jeremy Wilson from the pictures and from Joe's dream. He was even wearing a Marine uniform, but the name Jerry didn't seem to mean anything to him. "My name's Private Brennan Wilson."

"Wilson?" Joe would definitely have some questions for this young man, but that would have to wait. "I'm Joe Hardy. Do you have a car?"

"Yeah, but it's parked down the road," Brennan replied. "Thank we can get to it without being seen?"

"I think we better try. Do you have a gun?"

"Of course, I do," Brennan told him.

"There should be a gun in the glove box," Joe said. "Grab it for me."

While Brennan retrieved the gun, Joe worked his hands over his legs. Even if he couldn't get the handcuffs off, at least his hands were in front of him now instead of behind his back. Brennan handed him his gun, and the two of them set out into the woods, with Brennan leading the way.

A few minutes later, a flash of headlights surprised them. Brennan stopped and held out a hand to stop Joe. "My car's right up ahead, but somebody else is there. Think it's your killer?"

"He's not mine," Joe replied. "He couldn't have seen us yet. Hit the ground. Maybe he won't notice."

The two got down on the ground and watched the pair of headlights. Instead of moving off as they had hoped, they turned off, and Joe heard a car door open.

"We could just rush him," Brennan whispered. "We're both armed."

"Let's wait," Joe advised.

"He could get away."

"The main thing is for us to get away. Don't worry. I know who he is. He can't get far."

They waited, watched, and listened. They heard the person walking around on the gravel and then go rustling off into the trees. After a few minutes to make sure he was really gone, they rushed toward the car. Another car was parked behind it, blocking it.

"If we go forward, where will that take us?" Brennan asked.

"Nowhere, I think," Joe said. "All these roads look the same to me, but this one's so small, it's got to be a dead end."

"Hopefully not literally," Brennan replied. "Well, what now?"

Joe shook his head and leaned wearily against his car. "I don't know. I guess try to walk out and hope we find help before O'Rourke finds us. Unless… You wouldn't happen to have a cell phone on you?"

Brennan facepalmed. "I would, actually. It's in the car. It was charging." He opened the door and leaned into his car, giving an exclamation of disgust as he did. "It's gone. He must have seen it there and took it. Wait, what's this?" He held out a ring of keys toward Joe.

"My car keys," Joe told him. "He must have left them here, thinking we'd go back up to the cabin to get my car when we found them."

"In other words, it's a thinly disguised trap," Brennan said.

"It's not even disguised that well. What do you think? If we can get the car past him somehow, it is our best chance to get out."

"Maybe, but if he's waiting for us up there, he's obviously not waiting for us down the road, so walking might be a better bet."

"Unless that's the actual trap," Joe pointed out. "He might figure we'd think that way and actually be waiting for us down the road."

Brennan rubbed his forehead. "I don't know then. Would this guy think something like that?"

"I don't know." Joe sighed. "I'm sorry I accidentally got you into this. You don't even know who I am or what's going on."

"You said your name's Joe, right?" Brennan chuckled. "This is the most excitement I've had since I came on leave. What is going on, though?"

"The whole thing is pretty stupid, actually, now that I think about," Joe said. "I'm a detective, you see, and I'm investigating this fifty-year-old cold case. Then there's this dirty cop, who happens to be one of the top three men in the Bayport Police Department is trying to kill me to keep me from solving the case and exposing his father as a dirty cop who got murdered by one of his victims rather than the fallen hero that everyone thinks he is and thus also expose the current O'Rourke as following in his father's footsteps. I knew he was trying to kill me, but then I didn't have the sense to tell anybody where I was going. Then, of course, O'Rourke caught me and was going to kill me when he was off-duty and had more time, hence tying me up the way you found me. By the way, thanks for getting me out of there. I might be dead by now if you hadn't."

"Yeah, don't mention it," Brennan replied.

"How did you happen to be out here?"

"That's a bit of a long story. I'll tell you when we get out of this thing. So, you're the one with the experience in this kind of thing. What do we do?"

Joe thought hard. The keys were such an obvious trap that he couldn't believe O'Rourke would actually think that he would head back to his car because of it. That would tend to support the idea that O'Rourke was down the road, waiting for him. On the other hand, Joe didn't know O'Rourke all that well. Maybe he would try to lay that obvious a trap and was waiting up at the cabin. There was a fifty-fifty chance of getting it right, but getting it wrong could be fatal.

"We'll go back to the cabin," he said finally. "Wherever O'Rourke is, he's nowhere close to his car. That means that if we can mine back, we're home free. We'll play it expecting him to be waiting up there, though. Let's go."

They trekked back toward the cabin. When they returned, everything was still and peaceful and exactly how they'd left it, except for one thing: the door to the shed was closed again and the bar was in place. Joe and Brennan hadn't bothered to do that. Someone else had been here, and O'Rourke was the only likely candidate.

"That's lucky," Brennan whispered. "We go back to the road now that we know where this guy is, right?"

"Right."

Joe was about to turn to go when he saw several figures dart from behind the cabin to the shed. He watched them in bewilderment. Who on earth could this be?

"You coming or not?" Brennan whispered, tugging at his arm.

"Hold on. There's someone else there."

"So?"

"So, O'Rourke might not be here at all," Joe said.

"Well, does O'Rourke have anyone working for him?"

"I doubt it."

"Then let's go ask them for help."

Joe hesitated. "They could be working for him. We'll sneak up on them. You go around to the right, I'll go to the left. Do not shoot unless I give the word."

"Yes, sir." Brennan headed off to the right.

Joe's side was closer, so he waited a few seconds to let Brennan get into position. He was about to move when he felt something shoved into his back. His shoulders drooped. While he had been distracted, he had let O'Rourke sneak up behind him.

"Well, Hardy, I was afraid you'd gotten away. Who's the other guy? It looks like I'll have to get rid of him, too, now. You shouldn't have involved anyone else. How about you hand me that gun, nice and slow and easy?"

Joe was about to obey, but then he thought better of it. Brennan knew enough of the story to fill give Frank enough to put all the pieces together if Joe didn't get out of this. There were at least four other people here in addition to Brennan, and they probably weren't particular friends of O'Rourke. It was a risk and chances were good that Joe wouldn't walk away from this. Even so, it was better than giving O'Rourke the chance to quietly hunt down Brennan and possibly get away after all. He was going to try.

He turned slightly and began handing the gun off. Then, just before O'Rourke could take it, he rammed it into the older man's chin, giving a shout as he did so.

It wasn't his best punch – being handcuffed didn't allow for that – but it did take O'Rourke by surprise. He fell back but he didn't drop his gun. Joe, on the other hand, did. There was no time to hunt for it. He sprang at O'Rourke, grabbing the wrist of his gun hand with both his own hands and trying to keep the muzzle of the gun pointed away from him. The gun went off.

O'Rourke had the advantage. He had one hand free, and he pummeled Joe in the stomach several times with it. Joe loosened his grip, and O'Rourke pulled away. He staggered to his feet and pointed his gun at Joe, his finger on the trigger.


	18. A Case Solved

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you all so much for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to Candylou, max2013, Cherylann Rivers, BMSH, and EvergreenDreamweaver for your reviews on chapter 17! I will probably post the last chapter tomorrow, so keep an eye out for it!_

Chapter XVIII

A Case Solved

Joe stared up at O'Rourke. It was too dark to see the look in his eyes, whether he hesitated because he took pleasure in having Joe at his mercy or because he didn't want to pull the trigger after all. For a moment, it was as if a faceless, inhuman creature was waiting to kill him, a creature that no plea could affect.

Then there was a shout of "Hey!" from the direction Joe had sent Brennan Wilson.

A beam of light pierced the darkness from the direction of the shed and caught O'Rourke full in the face as another voice shouted, "Drop that gun!" O'Rourke lost his focus as he lifted one hand to shield his eyes. Joe relaxed. The second voice was Frank's.

"FBI. Drop the gun! Now!" another voice – Tony's – chimed in.

O'Rourke must have known he was outnumbered and surrounded. He let the gun fall from his hand.

"Face down," Tony continued. "Spread your arms and legs." As O'Rourke obeyed, Tony added, "Cover him, Biff," and began to search him for any other weapons.

Frank and Nancy were at Joe's side in an instant, and Frank helped his brother to his feet.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah." Joe took in a deep breath. "Thanks to you guys. That's the second time today I thought for sure I was dead."

Frank grabbed him in a hug. "You've got to stop doing this to me. I'm going to have gray hair by the time I'm thirty."

"It'll match your dentures," Joe teased him as he returned the hug.

"I'm touched by how much you care." Frank let go of him. "And for the record, they're implants, not dentures."

Nancy hugged Joe next. "What was the big idea? You stood us all up for that big beach party."

"Oh, is that the reason you guys are all dressed the way you are?" Joe asked.

The others hadn't even really thought about it, but Frank, Biff, and Tony were still all wearing swim trunks with t-shirts thrown on, to which Tony had added his shoulder holster, which made the whole thing only look more ridiculous, while Nancy had a cover on over her bathing suit.

Just then, Brennan arrived on the scene.

"Who are you?" Tony demanded immediately.

"Hey, he's okay," Joe said. "He saved my life."

Tony relaxed. He grabbed O'Rourke by the elbow, having already handcuffed him. "Okay, pal. You can get up now. You're under arrest for kidnapping. Let me read you your rights."

"I know them," O'Rourke replied, staring at the ground.

"I've got to read them to you anyway," Tony told him.

Biff handed him back his gun, and then went to give Joe another hug. "We can't leave you alone five minutes, can we?"

"It was longer than that before O'Rourke got me," Joe defended himself teasingly, but then he added more seriously, "How did you guys find me?"

"We'll explain later," Frank said. "You're sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine."

The police, along with Fenton and Sam Radley, arrived a few minutes later, and everyone told as much of the story as they knew. Nancy, however, in keeping with her promise to Colby, didn't give his name, and none of the others did, either.

Finally, Chief Collig, who was handling taking the statements personally, got to Brennan. "And how did you get mixed up in all of this, Private?"

"I'm here on leave," Brennan explained. "My family used to live around here, and I wanted to see their old haunts. I've been in town the last couple of days, mostly just looking around and stuff. There was something personal I wanted to do, but I haven't had any luck so far. I've got to head back day after tomorrow, so I decided to take one last drive around the woods here this evening. I got on this little gravel road, and I was about to turn around, when I happened to think that it looked like a nice place to take a walk. It started getting dark, and I was about to turn around again, but I thought I heard someone shouting, very distant. I figured I'd better see what that was about, so I followed the sound, and found Joe."

As he finished his story, Biff moved to Joe's side. "Does he look familiar to you?"

"Yeah, and his last name's Wilson," Joe replied.

"Like, as in Jeremy Wilson?" Biff asked.

Brennan caught the last bit of the exchange. "You guys know about Jeremy Wilson?"

"He's kind of been popping up all over the place the last week," Biff said. "Was he a relative of yours?"

"A great-uncle," Brennan said. "He's the reason I came here on my leave instead of going home, actually. See, he's always kind of been a hero of mine. My grandpa – Jerry's younger brother – always used to tell me stories about him, and everyone's always said I look just like him, which I always thought was super cool. Really, it was mostly because of him that I wanted to see the place they used to live, but the lady who lives there now seemed really confused and didn't want to let me look around."

"You're the one who was there asking about the car, then," Joe said.

"Yeah. Jerry's '63 Mustang always figured big into the stories. He bought it used when he was sixteen and used to drive it all over. Grandpa said after Jerry was killed, nobody else felt right driving the Mustang, so they left it exactly where he parked it and sold it along with the property. I always kind of wondered if it might still be there, and when I asked the lady about, wouldn't you know it? She had just sold it a few days ago."

Biff and Joe exchanged glances, but neither of them was ready to say anything yet.

Everyone was brought back to the police station to sign their statements and answer a few last questions, while a couple of detectives remained behind to photograph everything and to stretch yellow tape around the perimeter. Finally, at about one in the morning, they were all allowed to go home.

HBHBHBHBHB

Frank reached out and felt around for the alarm that was chirping incessantly, groaning as he did. It was only a quarter before seven, and he had barely gotten five hours of sleep. Even so, he was disciplined enough to force himself to sit up and start waking up. That was when he noticed that the other side of the bed was empty. Callie had already gotten up.

Frank showered quickly and then went into the dining room where he found Callie setting two places at the table with the smell of frying eggs coming from the kitchen.

"Good morning, honey," he greeted her with a kiss. "You must have gotten up early. You didn't have to make me breakfast."

Callie reached up to give him another kiss. "I wanted to." She smiled, but that faded a bit. "To tell the truth, I didn't sleep so well last night anyway."

Frank glanced down at the floor. "I'm sorry, Callie. I know I promised."

"It's not that, exactly." Callie twisted a lock of her blonde hair around her finger as she tried to think of the precise words to say. "Have you ever said something and just wished you could take it back?"

"Many times," Frank assured her.

Callie's eyes teared up. "I'm so sorry, Frank. I've been so stupid and selfish the last eight months. I – I'm sorry. It's your life, and I shouldn't be trying to control it."

Frank wrapped his arms around her. "It's okay. Everything's all right. I'm the one who should be apologizing anyway."

"What do you have to apologize for?"

"For not understanding until yesterday. When Joe didn't turn up last night, I didn't know what he had been doing, where he could be, whether he was in danger, anything. Then it hit me. That's the way it is for you every time I'm on a case, isn't it?"

"Yes," Callie admitted, "but it's what I signed up for. I didn't have any business falling in love with part of you if I didn't want all of you."

"It works both ways," Frank said. "You shouldn't try to control me, and I shouldn't worry you half to death all the time."

"I can take it. Please, Frank, what I want more than anything is for you to be safe and happy, but if I can't have both, I at least want you to be happy. Go back to working with your dad and Joe."

Frank pulled her closer so that she couldn't see the expression on his face. "I have been working with them, Cal. It's just not been in the field, and most detective work isn't in the field, anyway. I still get plenty of chances to think about cases and connect the dots, and I still will when I'm working in forensics. That's my favorite part of working a case anyway."

"No, it's not," Callie said.

Frank sighed. "No, it's not. What did Joe always used to say? 'We Hardys thrive on danger,' or something like that. But, Callie, things change, and that's good. I'm not eighteen anymore. I've got you and our son to take care of, and there's nothing in this world that's so important that I want to risk not being here for the both of you. Besides that, I'm not sure I could go back to field work full-time, not after what happened in November."

"But, Frank, working with your dad and Joe as detectives is all you've ever wanted to do."

"It was all I wanted to do, until I fell in love with you." He kissed the top of Callie's head. "Anyway, it couldn't happen now if I wanted it to."

"Why not?"

"Joe's leaving the detective agency."

"What? Why?" Callie took a half-step back in her surprise.

"He'll want to tell you himself," Frank said. "That is, unless Biff has already blurted it out to everybody in Bayport. The point is, Callie, that Joe's not going to need me to watch his back anymore, and I don't know that I want to be a detective without him anyway. Joe and I are a team, and we work better together, as the last few cases we've had have shown. Now, though, it's more important that you and I are a team. Being parents is going to be hard enough; there's no sense making it even harder."

Callie seemed to feel a burden fall from her shoulders. "Okay. It's been a hard lesson, but I think we've both learned it now. We won't try to change each other anymore."

"But we'll both understand that we have changed and will continue to change on our own," Frank finished for her. "There's one thing that will never change, though."

"What?"

"I'll always love you." Frank pulled her towards him and kissed her for a long time.

HBHBHBHBHB

"Man, I can't believe it's still around." Brennan Wilson sat behind the wheel of the Mustang, admiring everything about it. "I've heard so much about this car."

"It needs a lot of work, though," Biff told him.

Joe and Chet were also there. With the mystery solved, the three of them had met up to work on the Mustang, and it hadn't taken them long to decide that they ought to invite Brennan Wilson over to see it. Brennan had been thrilled, explaining that the chance of finding this car was what had solidified his plan of using his leave to come to Bayport instead of going home.

Biff was watching him with a somewhat pained expression. He hadn't even owned the car for a week, but it had already taken firm hold in his heart. Still, as he watched Brennan and how excited he was about the Mustang and listened to him talk about it, it was becoming clear that there was only one thing to do.

"I've got something for you, Brennan," Joe said unexpectedly. "Come on."

Brennan, along with Biff and Chet, followed Joe to his car. Joe opened the trunk to reveal a cardboard box inside.

"It's some notebooks that your great-uncle was using as a journal," Joe explained. "His camera is also in there, along with the negatives from the film that was in it, at least the pictures that were still good. I figured you or your grandpa would want them."

"We sure would," Brennan said. "Thanks." He opened the box and began looking through the items there.

Biff cleared his throat. "I guess the car means more to you than it does to me. Like I said, it still needs a lot of work, but I think you should have it."

Brennan's face lit up for a minute, but then he slowly shook his head. "Thanks, Biff, but I think you should keep it. I couldn't work on it, and I don't have any place to keep it besides my parents' place, and they wouldn't want it taking up space. I can see that you'll take good care of it."

Brennan didn't stay much longer after that. After he had gone, Joe, Biff, and Chet stood around for a minute, thinking.

"So," Biff said finally, "I'm going to join the Coast Guard. Joe's going to join the clergy. What are you going to do, Chet? Break into the TV business?"

"TV?" Chet repeated. "Oh, yeah, that TV job. Nah. I've found a better one than that. I've been reading up on horses lately, specifically racehorses. There's this farm up by Albany that's looking for a groom, and you know, there's a lot more to grooming racehorses than just brushing them…"

Joe chuckled as Chet went on. No, some things didn't change.

HBHBHBHBHB

Joe held onto that thought as he rang his parents' doorbell later that evening, his heart pounding. He wasn't sure he was ready to tell them about his decision, but he knew he had to tell them right away before they found out from someone else, and with Biff and Chet knowing about it, there was a good chance of that. He was encouraged by everyone's reactions so far, which had been surprised and questioning, but ultimately accepting. Surely, his parents, who loved him more than anyone else did, even Frank, would also accept his news with grace.

Laura hugged him when she answered the door. "I'm so glad you're all right."

"I'm fine, Mom," Joe assured her.

Laura held him a little bit away from her so she could look him over and make sure for herself that he was all right. She spotted the bruise under his left eye where O'Rourke had hit him right away. "Are you sure? That's a horrible bruise."

Joe had practically forgotten it, and so he reached up instinctively to touch it, wincing when he did so. "It's not that bad, Mom," he tried to reassure her.

Fortunately, Fenton arrived right then to take the attention away from Joe's eye. He greeted Joe warmly, the latest incident where he might have lost his youngest son reminding him of how grateful he was for both of them.

"Um, Mom, Dad," Joe said, as the three of them sat down in the family room, "like I said on the phone, I have something important I want to tell you."

"You can always tell us anything, Joe," Fenton replied.

Joe nodded, looking first at his dad and then at his mom. Then he took a deep breath and began to explain.

Fenton and Laura listened patiently and without interrupting. Whenever Joe would pause and look questioningly at one of them, they would smile and encourage him to go on.

"So, anyway," he finished, "that's what I'm going to do. I even got my acceptance letter in the mail earlier today, so it's official. Is it okay?"

His parents glanced at one another. Then Laura moved so that she was sitting next to him on the couch and put her arm around his shoulders.

"Of course, it's okay, Joe," she told him.

"I know it's not what you were expecting," Joe said. "I mean, me, a priest. Nobody would expect that. And, Dad, I know you must be disappointed. You always thought Frank and I would be detectives like you, and now neither of us are."

Fenton smiled a bit wistfully. "I would have liked that, Joe, but it's okay. You and Frank have to live your own lives. You've both had some hard decisions to make recently, and I think you've both made the right ones. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, Dad," Joe said, embarrassed to feel tears in his eyes.


	19. The Winds of Change

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! In particular, thank you to BMSH, max2013, Candylou, Highflyer, EvergreenDreamweaver, Barb, and Cherylann Rivers for your reviews since I posted the last chapter!_

Chapter XIX

The Wind of Change

 _Six weeks later_

"Are you sure this is a good idea? I've never done this before." Joe held out his arms nervously.

"What are you talking about?" Callie asked. "You've never held a baby before?"

"It's not really something that's ever come up before."

"Oh, come on," Frank told him. "We have to at least have a picture of you with your namesake."

Callie placed her small son in Joe's arms, and Frank snapped a picture with his phone as Joe went on, "Seriously, you guys, you didn't have to name him after me."

"None of the three of us would be here now if it wasn't for you several times over," Callie said. "So, yes, we did have to name him after you."

Frank and Callie had just brought Roman Joseph Hardy home two days earlier. The first day home, they had had to themselves, and then the next day, their families had come to visit the newest addition for the first time outside the hospital. Today, Joe had come by to help Frank fix up a few things around the house and get it ready for Frank and Callie to leave again once school started. The house was a rental, and Frank and Callie had made the decision to let it go when school began, so that they wouldn't have to keep paying the rent when the house was standing empty. That meant that for school breaks, they would have to stay with either Frank's or Callie's parents, which wasn't completely appealing to the independent couple. Even so, they were determined to make the best of it.

"So, I noticed yesterday that Aunt Gertrude wasn't giving you quite so much the cold shoulder treatment," Frank commented to Joe.

"She's warming up to the idea," Joe said. "She's going to take quite a bit more warming up, though, before we can have a normal conversation about it. Honestly, though, the whole thing with the O'Rourke case is kind of helping."

"Then that's the only good thing that's come out of that whole mess," Callie replied.

"I wouldn't say that," Joe said. "O'Rourke's been put out of business, and Olaf is getting the promotion to chief instead of him, so those are definitely good things."

"You've got to admit that that's about it that has turned out well," Frank told him.

The fallout from the O'Rourke case had been ugly, especially in the first couple of weeks. The story had hit the national news, and for several weeks, new revelations of the extent and nature of O'Rourke's crimes had been made practically every day, keeping the story in the news for that length of time. Accusations against the Bayport Police Department, as well as police in general, had run rampant, with Chief Collig and the other high-ranking officers being accused of covering up for O'Rourke and the other officers in general falling under suspicion that they might be up to the same thing. Chief Collig had immediately begun an investigation into every man and woman on the Bayport Police Department, which every officer was cooperating with, and was working with Olaf to put into place even more efficient screening and training for incoming officers. Those efforts were, of course, largely ignored by the press, who were more interested in decrying the police for their failures in the matter than in reporting on the efforts that were being made to make sure nothing of the kind every happened again.

Naturally, the Hardy family had found themselves in the middle of it. Between Frank and Joe being responsible for solving the case and their and Fenton's status as private investigators, as well as Fenton being an ex-cop, journalists and reporters had descended on them to get their opinion of the case. However, when it turned out that these journalists were less interested in the Hardys' actual opinion than they were in getting a statement that could be twisted into a denunciation of the police or some other juicy tidbit that would raise their ratings, the Hardys had decided it would be for the best to refuse to give any more statements. Frank had written a letter explaining the Hardys' exact position on the case (including denying the rumors that he and Joe were leaving professional detective work because of this case), which Fenton and Joe had also signed and was then sent as a letter to the editor of all the local and national newspapers that had been reporting on the story, and that was the last official comment any of them were going to make on the case.

"So, how is it helping with Aunt Gertrude?" Callie asked.

"She was saying it wasn't right for all these reporters and such to basically be saying that every cop in America and especially the ones on the Bayport PD were corrupt all because of one dirty cop," Joe explained. "Then I sort of pointed out that maybe her attitude toward Catholics wasn't all that different. You've got to admit that Aunt Gertrude's nothing if not honest, so she couldn't really refute that. I think maybe she's been rethinking things since then."

"That's good," Frank said. "You and Aunt Gertrude sparring all the time is starting to get kind of old."

"It's way past starting to get old for me," Joe replied. "But I think it's going to get better now."

Just then, Roman started to cry, and Callie took him back, trying to cheer him up. She and Frank were sitting next to each other on the couch. Callie sat back, and Frank put an arm around her shoulders, pulling his family closer into him.

After she had gotten Roman quieted down, Callie asked Joe, "Have you heard about Iola and Tyler?"

Joe nodded. "Iola told me right away. She didn't want me to hear from somebody else."

"And you're sure you're okay with it?" Callie asked.

"Of course I'm okay with it. Tyler's a great guy, and he and Iola are crazy about each other. They should be happy together, and that's all I want for Iola."

There was no catch in Joe's voice nor regret, which was what Callie had been watching for. She had never quite understood how Joe and Iola had reached a point where they could be friends and not want to ever get back together again, and when Iola had told Callie that she and Tyler were engaged, Callie had been afraid that Joe might take it harder than he was letting on. He gave no appearance of it, though, and Callie decided she would just have to resign herself to the fact that Joe and Iola weren't in love anymore and yet could still get along.

"We're not getting much work done, huh, Frank?" Joe said, by way of changing the subject. "Once we make sure your place is in tip-top shape, we're going to have to work on mine. We'll have to get a trailer or something to move all my stuff out. It's a good thing Mom and Dad are letting me store it in their basement."

Because Joe was going to be a diocesan priest, he wouldn't have to take a vow of poverty, as he would have if he had joined a particular order, and so he could keep all of his personal belongings. However, like Frank and Callie, he was letting his apartment go when he left to study in the seminary, where he would only have a small dorm room. Because of that, he needed a place to store his belongings.

"Right," Frank agreed. "I guess we need to get to work. I have to admit, I'm not really looking forward to moving again."

"At least this time we're not going to be across the Atlantic from each other," Joe said. "We'll all be in Boston, and in fact, I looked it up, and your university and my seminary aren't too far away from each other. We'll be able to see a lot of each other, at least on weekends."

"That will be nice for a change," Frank replied.

Joe made a face. "Change. I know I've caused some of the biggest changes around here, but I'm so tired of changes."

"There have been some good changes, though." Callie looked down at Roman, the most recent change in her life.

"I don't think there have been any bad changes, really," Frank said. "Everything's turned out pretty well, even if it didn't seem like it would at the time."

He had barely finished speaking when a fresh breeze blew through the open window. It wasn't a hot, dry wind like July usually brought, but rather it was fresh and cool and must have just come off the ocean, for it smelled of salt and adventure.

Joe smiled a little as he breathed it in. Yes, Frank was right. There had been no changes yet that could tear them apart, even if in the last eight years it had often felt like it might. From now on, Joe thought, he could be confident that there was nothing to fear from change.

 _A/N: Once again, thank you so very much for reading this story through to the end! I know that I took some risks in it and did some unexpected things that I wasn't sure whether they would go over very well. Almost all of you have been willing to let me take the story where I felt it needed to go, and for that I thank you. Many of you have also given some wonderful feedback throughout the story, which I also really appreciate. I always love to read what you think and whether everything is making sense or not._

 _I have been writing in the Chapters series for over a year now. As those of you who have read the first few stories know, originally it was only meant to be a trilogy. I never expected to write so many stories all in the same arc, and at the beginning, I definitely never saw the twists and turns coming that it would take. I have enjoyed writing this series, but I think it's time for it to end. After all, the loose ends are all tied up and the arcs are all complete. There are also a few other reasons. For one, as Frank, Joe, and Nancy get older and have more responsibilities and their own lives that are separate from one another, it will get harder and harder to bring them back together for stories, and after all, even though there have only been two stories in this series where Frank and Joe have actually worked together, I like it best when they're a team. Also, it will get harder to include their friends, which I enjoy exploring their characters as well. Most of all, though, to me, Nancy, Frank, and Joe will always be the teenage amateur detectives, and that's how I like them best, so I want to go back to writing them that way. That being said, it doesn't mean that I won't ever revisit this timeline. I do have some pretty unique things going on here that it would be a shame to just ignore. I have been thinking about what I could do with it in the future, and I have a few ideas, but for now, I think it's best to let it rest for a while._

 _I do have another story that I'm working on. It focuses on Nancy, although a couple of other detectives you may be interested in make a small but important appearance. I know many of you are more Hardy Boys fans than Nancy Drew, but for those of you who are interested in reading it, it will start going up soon._

 _Finally, thank you one more time. You are all truly a joy to write for!_

 _~hbndgirl_


End file.
